


Since You've Been Gone

by raeryn



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeryn/pseuds/raeryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been years since she’s stood in Paris. It’s been years since she’s stood at the top platform of the Eiffel Tower—Ladybug's favorite place to be with Chat Noir. But Marinette Dupain-Cheng can no longer make it there; she’s stuck at the bottom with almost no hope to get back up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do you trust me?

**Author's Note:**

> Five chapters is a very loose estimate, but unless I'm hit with the plot train, it'll stick (I hope).

 

The breeze felt chilly as it scrapes across his cheeks.

His hair, just barely long enough to be tied back now, brushes his face, forced by the strong winds at this height.

“I think we should go now.”

Adrien doesn't blink at the floating creature next to him. Instead, he sighs, turning his head down a bit, looking at the street below with pained eyes. “Another minute.”

“You might want to at least transform. I don't think the staff would appreciate a young boy hanging out in the top platform of the Eiffel Tower.”

“Young _man.”_

Plagg snorts.

“Just a second okay? I like being here as myself.”

He ignores the way Plagg groans dramatically and the snide comments the rude kwami makes to himself. Adrien closes his eyes again, basking in the cold air that breezes against him. He inhales once, deeply, and exhales.

The pain in his chest hasn’t been released.

Opening his eyes slowly and just slightly, Adrien peers below him again, wondering if he could just jump down and trust Plagg to catch him. He could, if he wanted to, but he's almost positive that Plagg would scold him for such antics, even if the kwami is playful at times.

Either way, Adrien knows he won't. Not because Chat Noir won't be able to worm his way back down to the safe streets of Paris without a broken body (not that, since throughout the years, he's well acquainted with his extended abilities as superhero) but because Adrien knows that if he does, no matter how skilled he is, he might be just too overwhelmed with emotions to catch himself safely.

“ _Don’t you trust me?”_

He can almost hear it over the winds on the tower. Adrien knows it’s not actually there; it’s in his head, but he still can’t help the way he whips his head around, hoping to see her.

She’s not there. Obviously.

Adrien hangs his head and sighs again, content in leaving himself to stay that way forever until Plagg pokes his cheek.

“C’mon, Superman. We should go.”

“...Okay.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Obviously I _trust_ you, Ladybug,” Chat Noir said, tone aghast, but he crosses his arms and wears an indignant expression. “But you literally just asked us to _jump off_ the _Eiffel Tower.”_

“ _Transformed_ ,” Ladybug added, as if that makes a huge difference. Chat rolled his eyes.

“Obviously. I’m pretty sure I’ll remember the day you wish to reveal your face to me, Ladybug.”

“Are you trying to guilt trip me?”

Chat Noir smiled, and placed a hand at his hip. “Okay, say I _do_ jump off this tower—then what? Are we going to splat across the pavement?”

“Oh, Chat, it’s like you have no faith in our abilities, even after four years. We’ll catch each other, right?”

“And you just want the rush of falling to our impending doom?”

“Our impending _safety_ ,” she corrected again.

Chat Noir sighed. Holding his hands up, he declared, “ _Fine._ Let’s do it before I have any more time to think about what kind of stupid idea from hell this is.”

Ladybug grinned so wide, that he wondered briefly if they switched roles. Doing reckless stunts was something he would do, not her. But, he knew her birthday is coming up soon (a piece of information that was acquired through years of hard work) so Chat Noir decided he’ll indulge her.

Ladybug stepped back a couple meters, body poised in a running position.

“Ready?” she asked him.

Chat Noir replied with a faint smile and broke out in a sprint, ignoring Ladybug’s protests of _“hey!”_ behind him and leapt off the highest platform of the Eiffel Tower.

 _“Catch us!”_ he yelled in the roaring wind blasting in his ears, even though with his experience, Chat Noir had developed abilities that can fully land himself safely on the pavement. But Ladybug’s yoyo was still the most useful tool he knows, and he watched Ladybug gleefully nod and grab his hand.

“ _Hold on!”_ she shouted and twisted her body, her magical weapon springing to life.

And even though he had protested about his eardrums hurting for _hours_ after that and the way his stomach would lurch if he so much took one step, Chat Noir still loved the moment they had jumped off the tower together, the feeling of trust buried so deep with inside his bones, the happiness surging from his stomach as he fell.

It was a feeling of trust and happiness that he needed, that he had, that he used to remind himself why he had loved Ladybug so much.

Until she threw that trust and happiness away.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“No, no,” Adrien tries to reassure, “I’m not asking to _cancel_ the shoot, just rescheduling it—Yes, yes, I know that Giovanni is a very busy man and yes, I do appreciate him accepting our offer to work together, but we are already booked for that day and I cannot cancel my other clients for Giovanni—” Adrien briefly pauses, partially to thank the barista for his coffee, and partially because the assistant on the would _not stop interrupting._ “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that you rejected Agreste fashion—no, _you_ have a good day.”

Adrien hangs up with a heavy exhale, his head aching. He walks to the counter next to him to take off the cap of his coffee and add a buttload of sugar. His father would disapprove, but he thinks he deserves it. Phone calls after phone calls after phone calls; this was not what he was expecting when his father asked him if he wanted to become more than a model for the family company.

Of course, he hadn’t want to at first—Adrien had almost _loathed_ fashion growing up, needing to model for endless number of photo shoots at his father’s every whim and desire, having who knows how many events canceled because his pretty face needed to be captured by a camera. But over the years, he’s developed an understanding for both the work and his father, even if it isn’t ideal. He didn’t hate it anymore, at the least.

“Hard day at work?” a voice asks behind him.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Adrien says darkly, without turning around. He finishes stirring the coffee and picks the cap back up to press it on the cup when he catches a nostalgic black in the corner of his eye.

When Adrien spins to his right, anticipation and longing building in his chest, he’s met face to face with a familiar face and familiar pair of eyes and a familiar head of rich, dark hair.

“Marinette,” he breathes, the coffee almost spilling out of its cup. In the back of his mind, he had thought the person who had spoke was a simple, considerate customer in the small coffee shop—not his old classmate, not _her._

“Adrien,” she nods.

He’s mesmerized. Literally mesmerized. Years of not seeing her, years of questioning why she had suddenly left—and she’s suddenly back?

Adrien shakes his head. “W-wha-w-what are you doing here?” he asks, his mind spinning, unable to produce a single word. He clears his throat. “What are you doing here?” His head can’t wrap around this.

“I’m getting coffee and breakfast,” Marinette replies, nodding at the small latte in her right and the bagel wrapped in her left, as if that answers every question he has for her. “Which is why I’m standing in this shop...”

Adrien shuts his eyes again. Was he hallucinating? “No, that’s not what I meant...What are you doing _here?_ In Paris… I had thought you left—for good. Without telling anyone, especially your part—”

Adrien’s brain has finally caught up. Well, a good amount anyways. Looking at her blue eyes again— _heavenly,_ he briefly thinks, nostalgia hitting him like a wave—Adrien remembers that she doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that he knows. “I mean,” Adrien retracks, trying to figure out what to say, when Marinette holds up a hand understandingly.

“It’s okay,” Marinette tells him. “I know. I get it. I already got a scolding from Alya, and I’d appreciate it if the rest of my close friends didn’t do the same.” She smiles lightly.

Adrien wants to smile back. _Really,_ he does. But anger grips his heart with a touch of hurt. How could she say that? Tell him that they were still _close,_ still _friends,_ when she left them without so much as a word?

“I didn’t realize we were still close,” he informs her, voice cold. Marinette flinches back with pain in her eyes, and he almost regrets it. But then Adrien flashes back to all the times he was holed up in his room, wondering why she left, or flying across rooftops, alone, and maintains his hard stare. “Considering that you, you know, did leave us. For almost four years.”

“It was three,” Marinette whispers, her voice already cracking. _No,_ Adrien forces to himself to think, clenching his eyes shut. _Don’t let her do this to you._ “It was three years.”

“By April, it’ll have been four.”

Marinette looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.

Adrien struggles to stand still. “You come back _now? Why?”_

Marinette bites her lips. Adrien needs to look away because even after three years— _four—_ even after everything she’s done to him, she’s still the one person that can affect him like this.

“Whatever,” he eventually says, throwing his open hand in the air. “You don’t need to tell me.” He readjusts his hold on the coffee, walking towards the direction of the exit, Marinette trudging behind him. Adrien squints when the bright light of the morning sky hits his face as he steps through the door, the bells on it jingling. “So you're just what—back?”

“Yes,” Marinette breathes, her voice soft and strained.

Adrien shuts his eyes again, not glancing behind him.

“Without so much of a warning.” He laughs, but it’s hollow, sarcastic. “Not that that’s anything new.”

“Adrien—”

“Marinette,” he cuts, pivoting his feet so he can face her. Adrien almost instantly regrets it. Her blue eyes are lined with tears, her lips are trembling. He swallows, and it feels like a rock has lodged in his throat, but he continues anyways. “Marinette. It was good seeing you after four years. Maybe we could catch up or do something that regular friends do after not seeing each other for years, but I have to get to work.” He holds out his hand to shake, but realizing that both of her hands are full, he retracks, not bothering to wait for her to make a hand open to return his hand shake.

He spins on his foot and heads to the direction of his office, desperately trying not to look back.

 

 

 

 

Marinette doesn't know what to do.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing back here.

Truthfully, she had taken the flight back to France because she had thought Hawkmoth, who had inflicted this life on her, would still be active. He would have the answers.

Her heart practically shattered when Alya excitedly told her Chat Noir defeated him three years ago.

“We’re back to square one, Tikki,” she says, voice only a mere whisper because Marinette knows otherwise would only result in a sob.

There was no reply, but only a cold chill spreading throughout her body. Over the years, Marinette has been able to differentiate her mood from Tikki’s, though for the better part, they were often aligned. Often, Marinette would miss Tikki’s response, since she had usually felt the same.

“Adrien’s mad at me too...And no doubt Nino would know by now...maybe the rest of my classmates? They’re probably all furious and confused…” Marinette chuckles a little, but there isn’t any happiness in it.

She takes a deep breath, hoping it would steady her, but it’s anything but.

“Even though we came here to find Hawkmoth,” Marinette tells her inactive kwami, “I still want to do something in Paris. It’s _Paris,_ my home. I can’t just stay here, blindly looking for a cure.

“...I can’t just stay in my hometown and not _live.”_

Tikki’s reply was a warmth that ran down her body, spreading through her arms and legs, ending in her fingertips and toes. Marinette wanted to believe that this was the best choice. That even Tikki was encouraging her that this was the right thing.

Though she knows that it isn’t.

“But I _can’t_ do this to them!” she yells loudly, as if taking part in an argument between two people. When there is no reply, Marinette purses her lips, trying not to break, trying to hold it together.

She can’t do this to them.

 _It’s why you left, Marinette,_ she reminds herself. _You didn’t want to hurt them. You came back—and now you hurt them._

She already walked into that coffee shop this morning, knowing Adrien was there. Marinette had strolled behind him, with no clue of what she was doing, and ruined everything.

Alya had seen her by chance in the small hotel she’s staying at—apparently she was doing some reporting there—and disturbed all the guests in the lobby with her outburst of seeing her best friend after years of absence.

“ _Marinette?”_ she had screeched, “Marinette? You’re Marinette, aren’t you? _Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”_

She wasn’t sure if there had ever been a time where someone had called her name in such a short period of time more than Alya had.

The brunette had clung to her shoulders, crying, firing questions and demands, none of which she had gave a straight answer. It was impossible to lie to Alya, but she could try.

“You’re back though, right?” her best friend had asked—almost begged. “You’re staying in Paris right? You’re not just going to check in a hotel, not bothering to say hi to your parents, to me, to Adrien or Nino, or any of us, and just _leave_ , right?”

“...Alya,” Marinette had said, after a pregnant pause.

“No,” the journalist—Marinette had noticed the professional badge pinned to the hem of Alya’s shirt with a pang—had said, shaking her head violently. “No, no, _no._ You can’t do that, Marinette. You _can’t.”_

She knows she can’t.

But she has to.

 

 

 

 

When Adrien enters his home, he slams the door harder than he meant to.

“What, you want to call home maintenance now too?” Plagg asks.

“Sorry Plagg,” he tells the kwami, though his voice is hollow and void of actual apology. “I’m just…” He sighs again, placing his hands on the kitchen counter and leaning on it. The entire day has been exhausting. Adrien needs a break.

“Wasn’t expecting her to be back?”

“Well, duh,” he shoots. Adrien backs to the wall behind him and slides down to the floor. He buries his head between his knees and his chest, wrapping his arms around the crown of his head.

Tears leak and no matter how much he tries to suppress the sob, the terrible sound still makes itself clear, ringing horribly in the kitchen of his apartment.

“Adrien…” Plagg tries, “why don’t you talk to her?”

He laughs, coldly and harshly. “Yeah, because that’s what she did.”

“She must have a reason.”

“One that she didn’t bother telling me.”

“She could’ve been protecting you—”

He’s had enough. It’s a conversation Adrien’s had with Plagg a million times over the course of the last four years, and he doesn’t think one more would make a difference. “Plagg, she was _always_ keeping secrets. Fine, to _protect me,_ but I would’ve rather been in danger than to not know anything, to wonder for years why she did the things she did. She never trusted me enough to tell me.”

He knew she trusted him. Of course she did. But no matter how many times they fought together, shared things with each other, she would never trust him the way he did.

Adrien ran a hand through his hair, letting another round of tears to wrack his body.

Now that Marinette was back, thinking about it almost felt like yesterday. Like that day was a simple snap of fingers away from today.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Don’t tell Marinette, okay?”

“Alya,” Adrien said, struggling not to laugh, “I’m not the best liar.”

“Well, you’re going to have to! Or else it’ll ruin it!”

“I know, I know,” he reassured, “but I’m just telling you, I’m not the best person to trust with that.”

“Do you want to make Marinette happy or not?”

“Of course,” he answered immediately, “she’s my friend.”

“Uh _huh_.”

“She _is._ Easily a match against Nino for being a best friend.” He thought about it. “Well, maybe girl best friend then?”

Alya’s exasperated sigh was loudly audible against his ear. “That’s not what I meant,” her voice spoke through his phone’s speaker.

Adrien waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. “Okay, fine. Don’t lie. Just don’t give anything away, okay?”

“I won’t promise anything okay? But I’ll try my best.”

“You better,” the blogger threatened. “It’s bad enough I have to leave Marinette’s 19th birthday in the hands of incompetent men, but I’ve got my hands full with Ladyblog that I can’t even handle the most important bits.”

Adrien paused for a bit. “Still getting questions?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe! Ladybug hasn’t shown up for a week and people are freaking out. I mean, yeah, she’s the city’s superhero, but give her a break, right? These people are relying on her too much, practically taking her for granted!”

“No one really has seen her?”

“Not you too, Adrien!” Alya sighed again. “Of course I would post about it, or tell you if I knew something, right?”

“I don’t know,” he joked, “you would probably tell Marinette first.”

“I _would_ ,” she grumbled, “if the foolish girl hadn’t gotten herself sick. Apparently she thought she was so sick that even her parents aren’t allowed in her room.”

“What?” Adrien almost shouted. “I thought she had a minor fever or something. Has her parents called a doctor?”

“They have, of course. But the doctor said it was some regular flu, but Marinette refused to let her parents in. The girl is paranoid. Her illness wouldn’t be _that_ contagious! Besides, she’s better now. ”

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll just drop the cake in her kitchen, right?”

“Yep, and set it up okay? _Don’t_ say anything about it. Just tell her you’re waiting for me and Nino to get there before opening anything.”

“I still can’t believe we’re pranking her on her birthday.”

“A week _before,_ ” Alya corrected, “but yeah. It’s a great idea, isn’t it?”

He laughed a little. “I guess. We got a back up cake right? You know, to actually _eat.”_

“Adrien. Her parents are bakers.”

“I know,” he shrugged, “but I thought she might appreciate the sentiment.”

“Her parents have probably a cake prepared already. Besides, I know Marinette doesn’t like eating cake that much. She’s got too much sweets in her life, I think.”

“Hm,” is all he said. “Okay, whatever you think is right.”

“Good. I really gotta go now, Adrien, so I’ll leave it to you, alright?”

“Got it. See you, Alya.”

She cackled. “I will. I am so looking forward to this.”

With a happy and slightly frightening laugh, the girl hung up.

 

 

 

 

Adrien would have been too (maybe) if Marinette had actually been home.

The plan had been for Adrien to stop by her house, deliver the cake and presents that Nino and Alya had sent so they could have a mini celebration a week before her birthday. That had been the plan. It had been a good plan.

Maybe it could’ve gone without Adrien going by himself, because he was sure to mess up just a bit. Sure, delivering the cake isn’t much, but if Marinette had asked _any_ questions about it, he was sure her perceptiveness would’ve caught on immediately.

Because the cake wasn’t a cake. It was a balloon covered in frosting.

Alya delighted in seeing Marinette's sweet face splattered with  _sweets_ after she cut the "cake".

“It’ll be great,” Alya had claimed, “and we can all lick the buttercream frosting off her face.”

He had blushed at that, something that made him extremely grateful he had called Alya, not talk face-to-face.

Either way, it was a good plan. A great way to celebrate Marinette’s 19th. Maybe a little bit sticky, but it was good. He was going to be out of town the next weekend, so Alya had suggested they bump the celebration a week before, despite Adrien’s protesting.

“You’re one of her closest friends, okay?” Alya had declared. “So don’t make anymore excuses.”

He was excited, if he was honest with himself. Seeing Marinette’s face when he delivered the present had made him impatient in anticipation to see what kind of expression she would give him.

He never knew what kind of expression she would have made because when he took the liberty of entering the unlocked room, she wasn’t there.

“Marinette?” he called, hoping the girl would answer. Adrien roamed around the house, looking through the familiar rooms that he had been acquainted with in the past couple years in search of a black haired girl.

“Marinette’s not home,” he said worriedly.

“What?” Alya shrieked over the phone. “That can’t be. Her parents said she was in charge of tending the shop today, since they had a dinner or some event.”

“Well, she isn’t. She’s not home at all.” His eyebrows furrows. “Do you think something could’ve happened?”

“Like what? An akuma attack? No notification yet, so if anything of the such has happened, no one’s reported it.”

After hanging up with Alya, Adrien transformed and took his search to the skies.

Alya was right. It wasn’t an akuma attack. Chat Noir had spent hours looking, but there was no attack. The city was safe.

But Marinette might not be.

When Adrien landed back in Marinette’s house, both Nino and Alya were waiting for him in the living room. “Did you find her?” he asked hopefully.

Nino shook his head and Alya, with trepidation crossing her eyes, asked, “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Days,” he answered truthfully. “She was sick, remember?”

“This is getting creepy, guys,” Nino said.

“I know!” Alya yelled, “I know.”

Adrien walked up the stairs again, answering Alya’s frantic question why with a quick “lemme just check something”.

When he entered her room, it was the same as he last saw it just a while ago.

But then, when scanning her belongings more carefully, no longer looking for a person, he realized the differences from the usual. Some stuff animals were missing from her bed (he particularly noticed the absence of a cat plush toy Chat Noir had given her a couple years ago for Christmas) and when he peeked at her dresser, clothes were gone too. With his heart in his throat, Adrien opened her closet, expecting to see a luggage bag in it like he always had before, since Marinette had given him a tour of her room years ago.

It wasn’t there.

And on her desk, there lied a note she had left.

_Mama, papa, I’m sorry. I’m leaving for a bit. I’ll be okay, so don’t worry. I’m just going to take some years traveling, okay? Maybe the rest of France, or even England? I’ll need to practice my English though. Germany would be cool too, right?_

_I’ll send letters of my adventures._

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Adrien laughs. Dragging a hand across his face, he looks at his ashen face through the mirror. _What a lie, Marinette,_ he thinks. _What a big, fat lie._

She’ll send letters?

Yeah, they had wished.

 

 

 

 

The letter she had left was a lie.

Marinette had tried to fit in as many white lies as she could, but in the end she knew that if she hadn’t lied her parents would’ve ended up trying to find her. She needed to make it that no one would come looking for her.

So she purposefully threw anybody who might go find her off course. France, England, Germany—all places she tried to avoid, even if she briefly visited in the past three years. But never to stay.

Being back in her room now only made her emotional again, thinking of the days of how simple it was, to fight crime by Chat Noir’s side and gush over how handsome Adrien Agreste’s face was. Looking at her room now, Marinette is hit by the dreams and wonder of a foolish young girl.

Her parents hadn’t been happy with her return. They’d been relieved, of course, practically trampling over her with hugs and kisses and tears, questions asked and answers demanded with every breath they took.

Marinette didn’t answer any of them. Her parents— _bless them—_ didn’t push her.

“We’re back, Tikki,” she whispers.

A soft warming.

Walking around the pink walls, she picks up the pictures on her desk. It looks like as if nobody has touched them, but by the way that the smiling image of her and Alya standing in front of the Arc de Triomphe shows no dust, she knew her parents had been doing some cleaning.

Marinette places the picture back down, picking up the next one.

It's a group picture of her classmates when they graduated collège, grinning for the camera in front of the staircase of the school.

Taking in a deep breath, she sets it down and moves so she can look at the next.

Marinettee needs to open her diary chest for this one. She left the box here and kept the diary with her, because the chest added extra weight that she didn't need during her travels. Instead, Marinette left miscellaneous items in the chest, keeping it locked, a case of secrets she was never able to give up.

Unlocking the chest, she finds along strip of photo paper that she printed the picture out on. It's a series of unframed pictures of her and Chat Noir, his smirk lighting up the dark night as they sat on the top platform of the Eiffel Tower.

Her partner— _former,_ she remembers with a choke—wanted to take some selfies with his camera for the occasion.

 _"What_ occasion?” her younger self had asked.

“Celebration of a whole four years of working together!” Chat had declared excitedly.

It was a good night.

They had spent it together, laughing when they recounted their adventures, making fun of each other for the past mistakes they had made, talking about how much they've grown since.

Marinette wonders how much Chat Noir has grown now, in her three year absence. He's sure to have improved, abilities far beyond than what her's would ever be.

Suddenly, the rooms of her old room is too much. Marinette feels like they’re caving in on her and she’s starting to gasp for breath.

Grabbing her bag, Marinette rushes downstairs, passing a “bye!” to her parents and brings herself to the outside world of fresh air.

 

 

 

 

Adrien stands up from the desolate hallway of his apartment after what felt like hours.

“We should patrol soon,” Plagg reminds him, voice hesitant.

Even Plagg is being sensitive. Kind of.

“Okay,” he replies, tone flat and automated. It’s like he’s on autopilot. “Give me a second.”

 

 

 

 

“Ouch!”

Marinette curses. Of all the time for an attack...It just had to be one with one of her’s too, huh?

Hawkmoth wasn't active, so the thing that attacked her must have been a new enemy. She was only simply minding her own business, mulling over her dreadful thoughts in the middle of a crosswalk, when a large, black humanoid object came hurling at her.

Marinette had only seconds to dodge.

The people around her screamed, and as if still in the habit, Marinette shot up, and swiped a hand behind her. “Go! _Leave!”_ she ushered, hoping the civilians would move to safety.

But as the people ran, Marinette is left with a hopeless thought.

What could she do? She wasn’t Ladybug anymore.

Still, she had to do _something._ Marinette already left the city alone for three years now; she has to do something to make up for that.

The young, powerless girl charged forward, running towards the strange offender that had nearly killed her and others. Marinette was still trying to make up her plan on the go, already forming something along the lines of picking up a sewer drain and hurling it at the enemy with her remaining super strength when her body was shot with a burning, unbearable pain, knocking her to the ground.

She can’t do anything but just let herself lie there, writhing in pain as a numbing shock runs from the tips of her toes to the ache in her chest. A cold envelops her, and a whirlwind of mournful, depressing emotions surround her.

_You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die._

If being knocked down to the ground by one of the transformed villains and getting her elbows and arms scraped isn’t bad enough, Marinette now has to suffer the other effects of her attack.

After years, the curse has only increased in severity, allowing Marinette to be able to actually _understand_ the exact emotion that courses through her body when she experiences an attack, which is something Marinette really does not recommend. If the thoughts alone already made her deteriorate this badly, Marinette dreads the effects of her curse when it gets worse as time passes.

“Ah!” Marinette can’t help but to scream when a particularly jolting shot of agony stabs her.

Her fingers scrape against the dirty concrete as Marinette attempts to clutch something. Holding something had always helped, not that she understood why. Probably to help her channel the pain elsewhere? Either way, there's nothing around her; she was lying in the middle of the street. Marinette’s blurred vision shows her that there is a bar to park bikes a couple feet next to her, but at this point in her attack, she’s unable to move.

She grovels for it anyways. Anything to help. She never thought rationally during her attack and right now all she can think about is how dire it is for her to grab hold of the metal bar.

“Oof!” comes out of her throat when something runs into her. Suddenly, she’s in the air.

“Gotch’you!” a familiar voice shouts—heartbreaking. Heartbreaking for her to hear, heartbreaking for him to say, maybe.

“Chat Noir,” Marinette croaks. Or at least, it’s what she wanted to say. Instead, some gurgling sound is voiced, ending with a hard gasp for air. Marinette’s fingers find the collar of the superhero’s suit and she wraps it between her fists as hard as possible.

“Hey,” Chat says, and when Marinette finally peeks open a crack after struggling for so long to look at him, she sees that his attention is ahead of him, still guiding them across the buildings to safety. “You okay?”

Marinette can barely nod. She must’ve done something over the sort, maybe just a sliver of moving her head down, because Chat Noir’s head shifts as well. He must’ve nodded in reply. “Good. An agma’s attack is pretty weak, but that’s only true for the direct hit from Araign. The minions that the agma creates is more strong, but you got hit by an agma. So rest easy; it’ll be cleansed shortly.”

Marinette’s head is spinning. She can barely follow along. She can only assume that what Chat’s telling her is a new enemy that came to Paris after Hawkmoth was defeated three years ago. She wants to cry again.

Chat Noir looks different too. His suit is different and so is his hair. It’s longer, shaggier, but somehow, Chat Noir doesn’t look like an overgrown dog. Somehow, he pulls it off nicely.

And cleansing—god, did she hear him right? Can he _cleanse_ now? The whole ordeal of Chat Noir picking her up from a street has her feeling ten times more emotional than she had been when the attack started.

Finally, her attack subsides. She’s glad for more reasons than one. By looking at the worry on Chat’s face, she knows that any longer, he’d be able to figure out her injury had arisen something far more harmful than this new enemy that Chat Noir is so familiar with. And if he figures out that her pain is much more long-term, then everything she had done for the past three years had been for nothing.

The come to stop on an isolated roof. From the distance, Marinette can tell it’s far away from where all the rampage is being caused. Chat Noir sets her down gently and brushes a hand under her bangs, wiping away the sweat.

Chat Noir looks at her for a beat longer. Marinette tilts her head, wanting to ask him a question— _a lot_ of questions—but she’s still trying catch her breath.

“Your hair is longer,” he says. Marinette’s breathing slows and comes to its regular beating pattern.

“What?”

“Your hair,” Chat Noir repeats, gesturing to it. “It’s longer.”

“Y-you remember?” Marinette asks. She doesn’t believe that Chat Noir would remember Marinette that clearly.

“Of course,” he replies, with a touch of hurt and emptiness that jolts her. “Stay here,” he says, a coat of betrayal wrapped around his words, before turning and jumping for the nearest building with his baton extended, leaving her on the side of the street, alone.

 

 

 

 

Her hair was longer.

Adrien wrings his hands together.

Even though they had met in the coffe shop today...seeing her again in an attack was different. Without his initial anger, he had more time to study her. Her face matured, obviously, and her smooth hair grew to just above her chest.

More signs of just how long she had been away.

Another wave of remorse and ire washes over him, and Adrien flops on his bed, watching his ceiling.

How had she been? Was she doing well? Was her travels as adventurous as she said it would’ve been?  

He hadn’t asked. Adrien doesn’t know if he wants to. With all her secrets, Marinette probably hadn’t even been traveling.

His cell had been ringing ever since noon that day. Most of the calls are from Alya, some from Nino. Adrien isn’t in the mood to answer them.

The agma attack today was ordinary. Seeing Marinette in the middle of the street, hurt and lying in pain, had made his anger dissipate in an instance.

However, as he finished cleansing the city up, he realized Ladybug never showed up. Nothing new, considering she hadn’t shown up for four years now, but Marinette was back. She was back and she was supposed to help him. One more item to add to the list of things that she had failed to do.

His thoughts muddled, Adrien lifts the covers off his bed to tuck himself under them, clicking the light off as he tries to drift to sleep.

It doesn’t happen immediately.

Obviously, his mind is still stuck on Marinette. A twinge of guilt lines his heart when he thinks about all the harsh things she’s said to her today and briefly agrees with himself that he’ll apologize when he sees her next.

 _If_ he sees her next.

Again, a shot of heartache lands in his chest and Adrien panics with the thought that his last conversation with Marinette might have been in a local coffee shop with him angry at her.

 _No,_ he thinks, _I’ll see her tomorrow. I’ll contact her parents and I’ll see her tomorrow._

She won’t leave without telling him this time.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

“So, Marinette’s just what—gone?”

Alya’s voice was filled with agony and betrayal. Adrien looked at the bracelet attached to his bag. It was the same charm bracelet Marinette had lent him years ago and later decided to give him back before they were really friends and were just simply classmates. The charm bracelet she had promised granted her luck.

Releasing it, Adrien sighed. “Where did she go?”

“Isn’t that what we all want to know?” Nino replied. His best friend glances behind him, where the entrance to Marinette’s home was. They were all inside the bakery, waiting for Tom and Sabine to come out and talk to them. Apparently they had been talking to the police after they sent in a missing persons form.

“Alya? Adrien, Nino?” All three heads turned to the direction of the door. Sabine stood by the threshold, holding the door open. Marinette’s mother was still young and pretty, but now her face wore exhaustion and seemed to have aged years. She waved a hand towards her, beckoning them to come in.

They all exchanged looks before Alya gulped and entered in first.

 

“Technically we can’t do anything about it if Marinette left on her own.”

The policeman had a sympathetic expression on his face, one that oddly rubbed Adrien the wrong way. They weren’t going to do anything about it?

As if reading the fury flaming inside him, the officer handed him the note and asked, “You’re sure this is her handwriting?”

Adrien looked at the familiar script. The curls of the rounded letters, the neatness of the words. He had initially thought it was Ladybug’s handwriting and remembered taking the notes Marinette had written for him and comparing it to the love letter he had received years ago. It was similar, he had admitted after long examination, but it wasn’t the same.

With his skin feeling like sand, he nodded. “It is.”

Alya snatched the note out of this hand. Tears brimmed her eyes as she added, “This is her stationary too. I bought it from a store in England for Christmas.”

The policeman shook his head. “Then she’s not missing. She must’ve left on her own free will.”

Adrien heard Alya choke and Marinette’s father give a sob and he shot out his hand. “Wait!” he exclaimed, gripping the officer’s uniform sleeve. “How can you know she wasn’t kidnapped and forced to write the letter?”

“Her wardrobe? The missing luggage case?”

“More necessary proof to fabricate a lie that Marinette did leave!” Adrien snapped, refusing to believe that Marinette— _Marinette,_ who was probably the most loyal person he knew, tied to maybe only Ladybug—would just _leave_ them without a warning!

“Adrien,” Alya said, placing a hand at his shoulder. “I think they might be right.”

“Alya, you too—?”

“Look,” she said, thrusting the paper in his face. He read over the note again, confused.

“What?”

“That’s Marinette’s handwriting.”

“I know…” he said, still not getting it.

Exhaling a particularly heavy breath, Alya pointed to the cute, neat words Marinette printed on the paper in pink ink. “Marinette has two types of handwritings: this neat one when she’s relaxed and a more messy one when she’s rushing or distressed.”

“What are you getting at?” Adrien asked the girl, after giving the note another one over.

Alya’s eyes were closed, her eyebrows pinched, mouth trembling, as if the next words she had to say were stuck in her throat. “If Marinette was getting kidnapped, her handwriting would’ve been more distressed. This one is impossibly neat. She’s probably excited as ever for her ‘adventure’.

“Marinette knows that I know about her handwritings. If she really was getting kidnapped, she would’ve written in a obviously messy handwriting. It would’ve been a first indication that she was in danger. Kidnappers wouldn’t have known that.” Alya paused, clutching her head. “She’s not getting kidnapped or anything of the sort.

“I don’t know what she’s doing, but this was definitely in her own free will.”

 

He can’t believe he didn’t know about the handwritings.

Angry, Adrien dropped the notebooks Alya gave him a half hour ago with a thud. He also pulled out the folders of past papers. He had always kept them, even though part of him knows that he’ll never need to refer to those Geometry notes ever again. But now, he was glad he kept them, because when he pulls out the notes Marinette had written once—the same piece of paper that he had clutched in one hand, the love letter in the other, desperate to find out if they were one and the same—and laid them out with the rest of Marinette’s things.

“If you don’t believe me,” Alya had said, giving him the notes, “look at these. Marinette is frantic about keeping her notes organized, so the ones in notebooks are practically perfect. The quick ones she wrote on pieces of binder paper or sticky notes? Not so much.”

Adrien groaned. Alya was right. After giving Marinette’s handwriting a thorough inspection for the second time of his life, he completely agreed with her. Marinette’s handwriting when she jotted down quick notes weren’t as neat as the ones she had in her notebook, flourished with color coding and fancy script.

Adrien looked at the notes Marinette had given him once. They were written on binder paper and Adrien remembers that they weren’t special notes or anything. The paper simply contained rushed things she wrote down in the midst of their professor’s fast lecture, notes that she had been ready to throw out because she had recopied them into a notebook before Adrien has asked for them. He had missed a day because of his photoshoot and knew that Marinette took far better notes than Nino.

“They’re really messy!” he remembered her warning.

“Messy notes are still notes. I bet they’re still better than Nino’s chicken scratch.”

“Hey!” his best friend shouted, before they all bursted out laughing.

Adrien sat in his chair, scratching his head. Marinette was really just gone? One note, one rather messily written note, and just... _gone?_

He shook his head. It was so unlike Marinette. Marinette would always stay behind and help people out, who took time out of her day to aid others, who always put others first.

He couldn’t imagine her doing something like this.

 

 

Another night of patrol went by without his lady.

Which was fine. More or less. There hadn’t been any more akuma attacks since that last one with Hawkmoth. The villian had possessed a person long enough to temporarily appear next to them—in spirit, according to Plagg. Hawkmoth wasn’t actually there and Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn’t very well trust that the form he took was actually what Hawkmoth looked like. Either way, Adrien had been knocked out for a while, needed to recharge, but after he came back, he discovered that the damage had been cleansed already.

He sent an email to Ladybug’s private account that night. (They had made emails so they could actually communicate with each other, something they had figure out was completely necessary, even with secret identities.)

She replied informing that she had defeated the akuma and cleansed it while he was out of commission, leaving Adrien to feel upset. He had let her down—but at least Ladybug fixed the problem.

“You’re amazing, even on your own,” he had sent out.

But a minute later, he didn’t feel unwanted anymore (that was his lady, always making people feel better). Adrien opened the email, reading, “I know, thanks. But hurry up next time, kitty! I need you.”

She needed him.

As did he.

 _So where is she?_ Adrien thought as he leapt over another building. They had agreed that they might have an unexpected emergency come up that forced them to ditch patrol, but they usually sent out an email to tell the other about it.

Ladybug hadn’t sent him anything of the sort.

In fact, her last email had been the ones sent out the day after the akuma attack, which was over a week ago.

It was as if she just disappeared.

 _Just like Marinette,_ Adrien thought bitterly as he passed through his window, seamlessly transforming back to himself and landing on the floor as Adrien Agreste.

Ladybug and Marinette—both just _gone._

With a jolt, Adrien’s eyes shot to the letter from Ladybug he had hung on his wall.

He grabbed one of Marinette’s notebooks as he ran pass and held it next to the note on the wall.

Adrien swallowed.

 

 

Adrien was soaring the skies of Paris again.

It’s practically 3 am, but he didn’t care. Did anybody actually expect him to sleep after that? Marinette’s disappearance, Ladybug’s absence, then that _letter..._ His mind was spinning.

 _Just because Marinette’s handwriting matched the love letter’s didn’t mean she was Ladybug,_ he tried to tell himself, attempting to make any amount of sense out of this horrible mess. _Even if they did disappear around the same time._

But that still wasn’t right. He hadn’t seen Ladybug in over a week and Marinette was sick just a few days ago! That’s what Alya had told him.

 _She wouldn’t ditch patrol that many days,_ Adrien tried to tell himself, _would she?_

Then again, Marinette wouldn’t have left her friends and family behind so suddenly, but she had.

Adrien clenched his fists.

The next thought hit him like a lightning strike. His hands relax.

_Marinette….likes me?_

He had confirmed that Marinette wrote the love letter, but was too preoccupied with the whole situation between Ladybug and Marinette and both their disappearances to think about it.

 _She likes me._ Adrien played with the revelation in his head, smiling more than he probably should be. _But she still left._

The initial happiness was immediately replaced with ire, and his hands recurled into fists. _That letter was sent years ago. Even if it was from Marinette, she probably doesn’t like me anymore. At least, she doesn’t like me enough to stay._

_She didn’t like any of us enough to stay, and left on her “own free will”._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

This is not her own free will.

Marinette zips up her jacket, shivering as she tries to adjust the hoodie of her down jacket better. She should’ve known better than to walk the cold, 8 pm streets of Paris without a scarf, but her hair is long enough now to cover the bits of her skin that were exposed to the freezing air.

Her head hurts and she wonders for the nth time, if it’s another side effect of her curse.

Glancing at a coffee shop on the corner of the street she was walking on, she wonders if she should get something hot to drink. Then she’s hit with the sudden memory of her conversation with Adrien yesterday morning.

With another pang that was more than her head aching from her migraine, Marinette chants in her head again, _This wasn’t my free will._

Even if coming back to Paris was her choice, everything she has done, everyone she has hurt, all originated from her first enemy.

 _Real enemy,_ Marinette jokes lightly to herself, recounting all the times that Chloe has tried to harass her. Thinking about the blonde made her miss the girl’s antics just slightly, even if they were mostly annoying.

Maybe she should drop in her father’s hotel for a visit?

 _Alya would certainly hate that,_ she thinks to herself, _if I visited the brat of our childhood instead of my best friend._

She still hasn’t seen Alya today.

After their initial encounter when she checked in the small hotel a couple days ago, all Marinette has done was enter a coffee shop that she saw Adrien in, with no rationale on her part what so ever, get overwhelmed by her teenage memories, receive an attack from an agma, suffer an attack, and sleep in all day.

 _Productive,_ she declares sarcastically, _you have a good estimate of your last day and you sleep in all day?_

It was a good nap, nevertheless.

Marinette sighs. She _really should_ visit Alya and Adrien and Nino and all her other friends properly before she leaves forever. Before she regrets it.

When she looks up from staring at the icy ground for so long, Marinette’s breath catches.

 _Maybe there is a divine being out there,_ she distantly decides, _even though I’m stuck in this state._

Because several meters in front of her, exiting a cheese store that was next to the coffee shop she had seen on the corner, is Adrien Agreste.

He holds a bag of cheese in his hand, enough to last a whole half year, in Marinette’s opinion. Not dwelling on the abundance of cheeses or Adrien’s taste in food, Marinette raises her hand and opens her mouth before she can change her mind.

“Adrien!” she shouts the same time a deep voice in her head resounds, _You’re not thinking again_.

“Marinette,” he says, his voice a little breathless and eyes a little stunned, “hey.”

Her eyes dart to the left, to the right, anywhere but Adrien’s eyes. She doesn’t know if she can handle another conversation with Adrien when he’s mad at her.

“Marinette,” he repeats, voice with so much force that she looks back. “I’m sorry, about yesterday morning.”

She bites her lip.

“It was wrong of me to be so brash with you, and I know you must’ve had your reasons. I was just angry, since I thought we were close friends.” It was just like Adrien, Marinette decides, to be so _charming,_ even when she’s the one at fault.

“We are,” she whispers.

Adrien smiles kindly. He cocks his head, his entire body questioning. “Are we?”

Marinette purses her lips, trying not to give in to her stupid tears. Another side effect—prone to crying. Minor, but still. “We can be,” she says finally.

“I’d like that.” Adrien offers an arm for her to take. “Shall we?”

She gingerly weaves her arm into his, loops them together. “Where to?”

 

 

 

She finds herself in a warm garden.

It’s a greenhouse, so even in the chilly night air of winter Paris, she’s cozy warm. Which is a relief, because while Marinette is not completely certain that this is a side effect, she has noticed she deteriorates more when she’s cold. Her brain hurts slightly and focusing on anything is more difficult than it should be.

“It’s after hours so no one is in here,” Adrien told her, “but I know the manager personally. His son was my roommate for a year in university.”

Marinette gave a quick “cool, that’s amazing!” hoping her tone said more than her actual feelings. _University._ She had always wanted to go to one.

“Alya’s a journalist for some big company. She claims it’s not that big but Nino can’t stop talking about it. He’s been DJ-ing for some clubs, by the way.”

Marinette nods. She tries to will her heart not to break as she hears of her friends are all moving on with their lives without her. “And you?” she whispers and her voice cracks a little.

“Still modeling for daddy.” Adrien smiles bitterly at her. “But it’s okay. I was never fond of modeling, but father let me work a branch in his company after finishing school.”

“Working in a fashion company, huh?” Marinette converses, each word hitting her like a sledgehammer.

“That’s right, you wanted to be a designer, right?” Adrien looks at her expectantly.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, “I did.”

If Adrien had anything to say to that, he didn’t do so aloud.

They walk in the garden in silence for a couple minutes, Marinette enjoying every centimeter of the greenhouse as much as possible. She gleefully chases a couple ladybugs when she saw them, but the butterflies that had fluttered by only invoked terror in her heart. She stayed away from those.

“So…” Adrien says slowly. “What have you been doing?”

Marinette freezes. Placing her hands that had been surrounding a flower (not touching them, which still obeyed the signs) in her lap, she turns her head towards Adrien's direction.

“Fine,” she answers, faking a smile. “It’s been good.”

Adrien nods once. He doesn’t grin widely, just a small, polite curve. “Good,” he replies. She nods back, the entire exchange awkward.

Then suddenly, a harsh spasm explodes in her toes and extends up her legs until it makes its kill in her abdomen. Marinette screams out, clutching her stomach. _Twice in a day?_ she thinks angrily. _That just isn’t fair._

It was never fair though. The price of magical luck, maybe, but this had already extended far beyond what she would ever consider as fair.

“Marinette!” Adrien shouts and with another pain, she realizes that Adrien’s next to her.

 _It’s getting worse,_ is what Marinette thinks before she falls to the ground, lying on the floor, helpless, for the second time that day.

“Marinette,” Adrien exclaims again, concern painted over her name, worry etched on his face. He bends next to her, holding her back. “Marinette, are you okay?”

She only shrieks in reply.

“Marinette!” His other hand, the one not at her back, reaches for his back pocket. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

With all her might, she’s able to stop him before he presses the green button to dial. “Adrien,” she croaks. Her fingers wraps around his, squeezing them hard. “You can’t,” she tries to say, but it doesn’t come out quite right and Marinette settles for a shake of her head.

“Marinette, I have to send you to a doctor!”

She shuts her eyes, attempting to tilt her head again, hoping he’ll get it.

“Marinette, _please_.” He lets her back fall back into his arms and placing his other arm under her knees, he picks her up. Gently, Adrien lays her down on one of the benches of the greenhouse. His hand brushes over her hair, sweat coating his fingertips. “Marinette...has this happened before?”

She wants to laugh. _More times than you can imagine_.

“This happened earlier today too,” she hears him mumble. “I thought it was the agma…”

“Adrien,” she calls, and his attention is on her in a flash. Marinette wants to smile at his affection. “Hand,” Marinette mumbles.

“My hand?” Adrien clarifies dubiously. She nods and he holds out his right hand. Marinette laces her fingers through his and holds on tight. She wonders if she’s hurting him too much, if his knuckles are broken yet, but all she can think about is how the burning pain is disappearing.

They stay like that for a couple moments. If Adrien is bothered, he doesn’t say a word.

“Marinette,” he tries again when her breathing has slowed and she’s released his fingers. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She shakes her head.

“Marinette,” he repeats helplessly. “I want to help. I need to know what’s wrong.”

Biting her lip, Marinette furiously moves her head side to side, tears leaking in the corner of her eyes, even though they’re shut. She covers her face, blocking out the light.

“Is that why you left?”

She peeks out from her eyes to look at the 23 year old. He’s not staring directly at her, but to the side, just a bit. His face is streaked with tears and Adrien’s eyes are cracked with sorrow.

“Adrien…”

“Please, Marinette. Tell me why you left.”

She turns her head to the side.

“I can’t.”

“And you can’t tell me what that was just now?”

Marinette shuts her eyes. “No.”

“Then what _can_ you tell me?” His volume is rising, just a little angry.

“Adrien, I’m trying to protect you.” He laughs. “I _am!_ I just can’t tell you. Can’t you trust me?” Even as she said her words, Marinette regretted them. The sadness in Adrien’s eyes flip to anger and he faces her.

“After four years, you’re asking me to _trust_ you?”

There’s a pregnant pause before Marinette swallows harshly. It was admission enough for Adrien.

He shakes his head, but it’s not like Marinette’s. Hers was full of refusal, while his is plain disappointment. “I did. I thought I did. I thought I could trust you, Marinette. I would’ve trusted you with everything—even my life. _Especially_ my life. But then you—left _._ How could I trust you?”

“ _Adrien_.” She’s crying now. Bawling. Thick tears run down her face and Marinette is sure that in another minute, terrible sobs will take over her body. “Adrien, _please.”_

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He did so just like Alya. “No, you can’t do that to us. To _me.”_ He shakes his head again, getting up from kneeling down beside the bench. When he turns around to walk away, Marinette’s heart sinks.

She grabs for his hand without thinking, preventing him from fully leaving. He looks down at it questionably. She’ll tell him. She _needs_ to tell him. Marinette bites her her lower lip, licks the upper, opens her mouth and closes it a couple times. Her heartbeat increases with trepidation.

“Adrien,” she begins, fear crawling under her skin, “I’m dying.”


	2. Don't leave me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Adrien thought Marinette leaving him and all her loved ones behind for four years was heartbreaking, he's sure to have no heart left after Marinette's done with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap 12k? I need to stop writing such long fics... Truthfully I had been afraid of posting this chapter because it was so long. I thought it would be kind of boring...but then I thought I hadn't updated in a _month_ (due to other fics + school) so here we are!
> 
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> Speaking of which, I would love it if you read my other fics! ~~shamless self promo I sincerely apologize~~  
>  The other fics I had worked on that delayed this are two oneshots. _Seeing Me_ is the companion fic (that I mentioned I thought about writing) to _Look At Me_ and _My Luck_ is a celebratory fic for Chinese New Years! Fair warning though, they're both pretty long, and I guess because of those two fics, I got self-conscious about posting this?
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> Well, anyways, here's the next chapter! Thank you so much for reading!

****He would’ve left.

Even as she clutched his hand, Adrien wanted nothing more than to pull away, to wring his hand back to his side. But the pressure on his palm, on his knuckles, on his fingers, made him stop.

When he turned around, Marinette looked at him desperately, begging him to wait.

Her hold on his hand was like a death grip. It held the same kind of anguish it had held hours ago, minutes ago, when he was Chat Noir and when he was himself.

So he waited.

Adrien already waited four years—what was a minute or two more?

But even with all the time in the world, Adrien doesn’t think _anything_ could have prepared him for this.

“You're dying,” he says, after what feels like the most ominous and painstakingly interminable silence he's ever experienced in his life.

Mutely, Marinette nods.

Adrien feels like throwing up. Lurching forward, he manages to catch himself on the bench handle. Marinette, seemingly rested now, bends her legs. She leaves him just enough space to let him sit down. Thanking her with a slight tilt of his head, Adrien sits in the bench next to her feet with a large sigh. His elbow rests on the armrest, his forehead leaned against his palm.

Another minute ticks by. Adrien shifts his head to look at the lying girl, his head still held by his hand, the only thing keeping him falling flat on his head from disbelief.

“What was your diagnosis?” he asks, surprised his voice worked at all.

“W-what?” Marinette replies, head snapping up towards him. Studying her expression, Adrien reads that she’s completely caught on surprise. No realization crosses her face; she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Adrien tilts his head. Puzzled, he further inquires, “Your illness? What kind of illness do you have?”

Understanding crashes through Marinette’s eyes like a wave. Not a soft flood, because panic builds in her eyes.

“Right! Right…” Her eyes dart away from him and Marinette places her hands to her sides, pushing herself up. Her back leans slightly against the opposite bench handle. “I, uh, have cancer.”

“Cancer,” Adrien says. Part of him is disbelieving—but he quickly dismisses the uneasy feeling resting in his stomach as the overwhelming devastation taking root in his heart. A sigh comes out. He runs a hand through his hair. Adrien is completely unknowing of what to say, what to do. “Oh my god.”

Besides him, Marinette nods, still quiet.

He shifts his head slightly towards her, briefly taking in her physical condition. She doesn’t seem too bad, especially for someone who’s been absent for four years. If he’s assuming she’s been sick for that long...shouldn’t she be in worse condition?

“Are you okay?” He winces. “Sorry. I mean like…”

Fortunately, Marinette smiles. “I know. I’m fine.” She rolls her eyes and he’s hit with just how familiar that action is, how such painful nostalgia is stabbing him right now. “More or less, I mean.”

He tries for a smile.

“Do you...want to talk about it?” He doesn’t want to push her. But Adrien has to admit that he is curious to know, wonders why Marinette’s illness forced her to leave Paris—her home (also where some good hospitals and her parents’ insurance are, he thinks)—for four years.

Angrily, he realizes that if Marinette had told him all those years ago, he could’ve pleaded a case with his father, could’ve implored him for enough money to provide her with a good hospital, could’ve got her good surgery. Adrien could’ve been able to nurse Marinette back to health. (Whether or not Marinette would’ve accepted, however, is completely another matter. But Adrien is convinced he would’ve persuaded her. If she had told him, that is.)

What was the point of all the wealth his father has, if he, as his son, couldn’t use it to help one of his dearest friends?

He grit his teeth.

“Hey,” the girl next to him says, her soothing voice like a balm washing over him. Adrien looks over to her painfully, sorrow imbedded in his eyes. Hers reflect the same kind of sadness, but she pulls through—forever strong—and offers him a smile. “Don’t worry, okay? I didn’t come back to Paris to have you lot worry for me.”

That reminds him of something, the tip like lightning coursing through. “Then why _are_ you back?”

Marinette turns away. Her lips drag into a frown, her eyebrows furrow. “That’s none of your business.”

It’s the first time Adrien has ever heard that from her. Sure, she brushed him off enough times, gave more unbelievable lies than he can count, but Marinette has never straightforwardly, outrightly brush him away.

“Please.” He reaches out for her shoulder, but her reflexes, quick as ever, it seems, aids her and she jerks away.

“Adrien, just leave it. Okay? I’ll be fine; I don’t need you worrying on me.” Hey eyes peek out from the curtain of her rich, black bangs. “I can handle it myself.”

“Marinette, you don’t _need_ to. You have _cancer,_ for christ’s sake! You don’t— _shouldn’t—_ be handling it on your own. Isn’t that what doctors are for? Support groups? _Friends?_ ” Marinette keeps shying away from him, and frustrated, Adrien cups her cheek. Marinette’s eyes instantly widens, but he can’t think about the friendship boundaries he’s crossing right now. The only one he cares about the boundary Marinette drew between her and her loved ones, how he’s going to push his way through. He’s not going to let her slip from his fingers again. “Marinette, we love you, okay? Please don’t leave us out.”

“Adrien,” she says, the word voiced so miserably from her mouth. Her eyes brim with tears; Adrien can tell just from the expression outlined in her eyes that she’s in pain, that she doesn’t want this. _Then what, Marinette? Tell me, please._ “Please,” she begs, “just leave me.”

“You’re asking me,” he begins slowly, “to leave you, after you just told me you have _cancer,_ after an _attack_ —which by the way, I didn’t know you could have, without going to the hospital immediately afterwards. Shouldn’t you be checked up on?”

Marinette doesn’t say anything. He shakes his head again. “Marinette, I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Why you’re keeping this from us. This is _huge._ Does your parents even know?” Marinette opens her mouth a little, looking to the side, like she was scared to tell him the truth.

A ragged breath comes from his mouth, and it’s all he can do to not crumble in front her. Adrien clutches his head, trying to dissolve his growing headache. “Marinette, who are you? The Marinette we knew four years ago didn’t keep any secrets. We could read her like a book—and she was an open one.”

“Adrien, I always had secrets.”

He looks up. Her face is serious—melancholic, but it is the first thing she’s really told him that he believed. It is the only thing she had said that was forced out with complete and utter truth.

He knew she had secrets. She still has many kept, and only one of which he knows.

And he hasn’t told her yet.

Should Adrien say it now? Tell her that he knew she was Ladybug?

But before Adrien could make that decision, Marinette pulls away from him. She stands up and starts to walk towards the exit. He follows her, scrolling through ways in his head to stop her, but nothing worked.

Marinette opens the greenhouse door. Smiling, she bids, “Thanks for taking me here, Adrien. I enjoyed it.”

That’s another lie.

 

 

 

 

Marinette lets herself cry in her hotel room.

Should she care if the neighboring guests could hear her? No, she could simply ignore their knocks if they should do so. She’s locked herself up enough times, pushed away enough people, what’s one or two more?

Adrien’s right. She hasn’t been herself, but really, what did he expect? She ran away because of this _curse,_ because she was of afraid of hurting those she loved—did anyone expect her to be cheerful again, smiling happily like before?

Though she can’t blame him. Marinette lied blatantly to his face again; she wouldn’t even be surprised if he knew. But of course she couldn’t tell him. First of all, would Adrien even believe that she was Ladybug? And _cursed,_ at that? How laughable!

But then Marinette is reminded of Adrien’s worried face when she had to suffer her attack in the greenhouse, the worried clutch of his hands when he held her, and she wonders if it is so laughable.

Of course not; this was Adrien, after all. The kind boy she fell in love with, once upon a time, when she was still innocent and thought being unmasked as Ladybug was the worst thing to fear. Adrien wouldn’t laugh; rather, he would go to the ends of the earth to help her—all the reason why she kept this secret from him, from everyone.

It’s been almost five hours since she got up from her sleepless sleep, fifteen since she’s walked away from him and left the greenhouse, but she can still feel Adrien’s hands around her, shaking as she screamed.

The look in his eyes when she confessed that she always had secrets—the glint in emerald that spoke more than Marinette believed it could.

 _Maybe he does know,_ Marinette thinks briefly, her head pounding. A headache, but it’s so minor compared to the millions of migraines she’s already suffered that Marinette barely regards it. _Maybe Adrien does know I’m Ladybug._ She repeats the thought in her head, despite the fact that makes sense to Marinette, because if Adrien did know, why would he greet her with such amiability? Hadn’t she deserted Paris for too long?

Nothing makes sense. Then again, it never did—not since the curse.

“This sucks, Tikki,” she tells her earrings, expecting no reply, like always. “This sucks. It _sucks._ ” An understatement, but she has no other words to say.

Apparently, her kwami agreed, because a chill crawls down her spine. A wave of emptiness fills her.

Marinette tries to steady herself. However, like her kwami, she can’t control her emotions. Whenever she gets bouts like this, especially combined with Tikki, sometimes she just wants to scream and throw away the feelings, trying to remove any feeling of depression filled inside of her.

It never works.

“Get some water,” she can imagine Tikki telling her. It’s Tikki’s advice whenever Marinette had waves of emotional turmoil before she turned 19, before she was inflicted with this curse.

Downing the liquid, Marinette starts to pant again. She drank it too fast. Marinette starts to feel a little dizzy, her hand shooting out for the counter to restable her body.

 _So weak,_ she hears, and at this point, Marinette is too far gone to differentiate between her own thoughts and the others.

Marinette tries to make way to the small, crappy bed in her room, hoping it would break her fall that’s surely to come in less than a couple minutes. Her head is pounding, her blood pumping in her ears.

Nothing makes sense. The thought seems like deja vu, but Marinette can barely grasp her surroundings to really examine if it was.

The door seems right in front of her, which isn’t quite right, because hadn’t Marinette been walking to the bed? Oh wait, no...There’s a couch near the door, maybe she can crash there instead…

The floor is closer. That’s Marinette’s last thought as she feels the carpeted, dull green against her cheek, her arm splashed against the side of the couch she had been trying to reach.

Her thoughts are filled with purple butterflies and purple ladybugs and disappearing cats and Marinette decides, is it really so bad to disappear as well?

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Now, don’t hold on…_

Laughter. Haughty laughter.

A whirl storm of purple and black surrounds, suffocating.

 _Are you sure you were Ladybug? The_ super _hero?_

High pitched giggling in the background. It’s terrifying.

_No!_

It’s getting louder. The arrogant voice shouting, that is.

_No!_

It’s chanted again, with egoistic happiness laced in it.

_No! No, you can’t be the hero Ladybug._

More laughter. Giggling. Shrieks.

 _No, no, no,_ no!

This time, the no’s are everywhere, both loud and quiet. It’s both in the foreground and in the background. It’s both deep and high.

There’s a pounding resonating.

_Dun, dun, dun._

Drums? Chants? A ritual, it feels like.

_Ladybug!_

More laughter, as if disbelieving.

 _Ladybug! Can you believe, this girl, this_ dying _girl, Ladybug? Ha! What a joke!_

 _Dun, dun,_ dun—

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There’s a knock resounding in her room.

It’s been on repeat for a while now, Marinette realizes, as she slowly wakes up from her nap—her _nap?_ Had she fallen asleep? Her brain is still immensely drowsy, but she’s able to grasp some aspects.

The knocking gets louder.

Trying to stand up, Marinette wobbles for the door. Luckily, the chair she had fallen asleep next to was close to the door. She only needed to walk a couple steps.

Not even bothering to peek to see who it is, Marinette goes to open the door. She’s still weak—she must’ve fainted earlier. That would explain her lack of strength.

Or would it? Marinette was always weak. Even more so after that incident...maybe she had always been overestimating her strength, deluding herself into thinking she was strong...that she was the powerful Ladybug...

Turning the handle of the door was an effort. Her hand slips from the knob a couple of times, causing her to slump forward, the other hand placed on the flat wood of the door, as if that would help her steady herself. Theoretically,it should’ve...but as soon as Marinette’s hand touched the wood, all she wanted to do was lie her head on the door...it looked so comfortable and her head was getting tired...it hurt to stand…

A sharp pang...A pounding...In her head...

Finally, Marinette is able to open it, with stars swimming in her eyes. Sometimes, Marinette thinks she sees Tikki, but that _must_ be a hallucination...

When Marinette swings the door open, she decides, she is hallucinating.

“Marinette!” she hears Adrien shout, and although his chest is right in front of her, arms held out towards her falling body, his voice sounds a thousand kilometers away…

 

 

 

 

Getting Marinette’s room number was an effort.

He probably had made a dozen calls to various lines connected to the small hotel branch Marinette is staying at, one of which to Alya. (He had made a couple to her, actually, but he didn’t count those—they were mostly callbacks, anyways.)

“I don’t have the jurisdiction to coerce a room number out,” Alya told him.

“You sound like a criminal,” he commented, finding his way through the shady streets. There’s a strange alleyway he must past before finding the hotel’s main entrance. If it wasn’t for the fact that Marinette is _dying_ (he hadn’t told Alya yet, a feeling of guilt coursing through his veins every time he heard the girl talk), Adrien might have thought that the hotel wasn’t too run down or anything. But his entire perception was changed due to that fact, and now, as he enters through the rotating doors, Adrien hopes Marinette isn’t alone in her room, suffering another attack.

“Just tell them you’re Adrien Agreste or something,” Alya says after four call backs. Adrien strides into the hotel, trying not to let his worries show. “Maybe the front desk will have a soft spot for heartbreakingly hot models.”

“Alya, you know that won’t work,” Adrien tells her. He knows she’s just joking. The two have no idea how to get to Marinette’s room. “I need to prove that Marinette is okay with giving me her room number, and we both know she’s not.”

“I still don’t get why you’re visiting her,” Alya bitterly says, “She didn’t bother visiting us.”

He sighs. Alya doesn’t mean that; they both know that. “I know,” he says, wondering if she caught the double meaning of that, “but I’m still worried.”

“Yeah, well tell her to give me a call when she’s done isolating everyone out of her life.” With that, Alya hangs up.

“You’re missing a lot of work for this girl,” said Plagg, peeking from his pocket. Adrien shoved him down a little unceremoniously; he was already in the lobby, with people nearby (though, very little).

“ _Shh,_ Plagg,” he smothered. “And she’s not ‘this girl’. You _know_ why.”

“Your father won’t be pleased.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not new is it?” Marinette was. Sort of. More like a blast from the past.

“Maybe her parents know?” Plagg suggests after a long silence. His tone is snarky, but the kwami is helpful. Adrien pulls out his cellphone with another heavy exhale.

“Yeah, I’ll try that.” Tom is in his recents, so Adrien quickly taps on his name, his phone dialling Marinette’s dad’s cell phone. After years without Marinette, he’s gotten closer with the Dupain-Chengs. It was a hard time for all of them, Nino and Alya and all the people who knew Marinette included. Adrien felt a pain he couldn’t describe to his friends; after all, they couldn’t know he was Chat Noir. But Tom and Sabine—loving parents as ever—stayed him, helped him heal. They always welcomed him with open arms, never restricting any part of them from him. They even let him up to Marinette’s room often, even when they both felt a specific pang of hurt whenever anyone wanted to see it.

Sometimes, Adrien would even find himself sleeping in Marinette’s bed, clutching her blankets, trying to remember what his lady smelled like. In his worst days, Adrien would fall asleep on the chaise, with tears leaking, wondering where Marinette ran off to, leaving him behind.

He would wonder why Ladybug would abandon him, why she would leave him behind, why she would give up Paris, their partnership…

Now, Adrien knew. To some extent anyways. He knows that Marinette’s lying to him. Then again, wasn’t he doing the same thing? He hadn’t told her that he figured out she was Ladybug not a day after she left, he hadn’t told her that he was the one by her side all those years ago.

He’ll tell her now. That is, if Adrien’s able to get a room number.

“Hello?” Tom’s deep voice sounds.

“Tom?”

“Adrien! What brings your call?”

“Ah...You know…” Crap. Adrien hadn’t thought this through. He never did, not when it came to Marinette Dupain-Cheng. “You know that...Marinette is…”

“Back?” Adrien almost jolts. His eyes widen. They knew?

“You knew?”

“Yeah, she came to visit us yesterday.” Adrien bites back the question: _Why didn’t you tell us?_ “Adrien, don’t feel angry—”

“ _Angry—_ ” He doesn’t know what he feels. Sure, anger is one of them, but there’s a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside of him that Adrien can’t even tell which one is which.

“Marinette had a reason. I’m sure she did. Don’t hate her too much, okay?”

“ _Hate_ her—” he repeats, but stops himself. Adrien supposes, from Tom’s point of view, Adrien does look like he’s pissed. Well, it’s not wrong. But it’s not entirely right either. “No, of course I don’t hate her. I wouldn’t say I’m not angry though.” He inhales, releasing the breath slowly. “That’s not why I’m calling though.”

“Then why?”

“I was wondering if you knew which hotel room Marinette is staying in. I’m at the small inn right now, but I’m not sure if the front desk is going to get me her room.”

Tom sighs—sadly, evident unable to help him. Adrien’s hope crumbles before the man even says anything. “No...I don’t. Marinette didn’t say anything—What?” The end of his message is fainter, as if the phone is away. Adrien’s eyebrows furrow, trying to listen. Sabine is talking to him in the background, that’s for sure. He catches “Mari” and “left” and a whole bunch of other hard words he can’t really decipher, mixed between Mandarin and French.

“You’re in luck, Adrien,” Tom tells him and he tries not to laugh at the horrible irony, “Marinette, clumsy as ever”—Adrien doesn’t miss the way Marinette’s dad’s voice cracks just a bit— “left one of her hotel room cards here. The envelope that is. It says...uh...Room 801.”

“Thank you,” Adrien breathes with relief.

“Good luck,” Tom bids, before clicking off.

 _Good luck,_ Adrien is thinking, as he raptures his knuckles against the wood harshly. He keeps knocking, almost like an automatic repeat, partially because he’s not leaving until Marinette opens the door, partially because his mind is elsewhere and his hand has a mind of its own.

The door slowly opens and Adrien pushes it open, not knowing what to say first. Retorts are at his lips, despite that Marinette hasn’t said anything (although she has _done_ plenty), apologizes one second from slipping (he didn’t mean to yell at her), throat closing up when he thinks about how she’s dying (and that one, he still can’t believe). But out of anything he could’ve said, Adrien didn’t expect to shout “Marinette!” and catch the girl in his arms and she fell forward.

“Marinette,” he calls again, this time quieter, because his throat is closing up. There it is again, Marinette’s sickness. Adrien doesn’t know how much longer he can bear to see this, even though he’s only seen her for a couple days. “ _Marinette…_ ”

“Adrien?” she croaks, looking up at him as Adrien cradles her weak body in his arms.

“Oh, god—Marinette.” Adrien brings her frame to his chest. He doesn’t suppress the sob that forms.

“Adrien…” A hand, impossibly soft—not gentle, but strokes his cheek. He remembers how many times Ladybug has punched him, shoved him, and it’s almost hard to believe this is the same limb. Adrien’s hand covers hers. It feels light, sickly. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” He places his head in the crook of her shoulder. “Seeing you. I won’t leave without seeing you again.”

“I’m not leaving…”

Adrien chuckles, the sound vibrating off Marinette’s body. “Of course.”

“I’m not leaving…” she repeats and he looks up. The superhero glances at Marinette’s face. Her eyes aren’t staring at him, but glancing behind. He turns around, expecting something interesting on the wall of the hallways outside.

“Marinette?”

“I’m not leaving…” This time, Adrien realizes it’s not directed at him. “I’m leaving…”

“C’mon,” Adrien says, placing his arms under Marinette’s. He heaves her, lifting her until her legs work on her own. It takes a little effort, and Marinette’s legs aren’t doing so much standing as thin support. However, Adrien manages to push her body into the chair by the door. The distracted girl leans almost instantly into the armrest.

“Marinette, are you here?” He nudges her. “Marinette?”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Are you here?”

Ladybug snorted. “Chat Noir, I know you’re an idiot, but you must be blind as well! Just check your staff. My location is on it!”

Chuckles. “Fine, take out all the dramatic air I tried creating.” Chat Noir’s figure stepped out from the shadows. It’s nighttime, so Ladybug couldn’t see as clearly as Chat Noir can with his night vision. But still, Ladybug could still make out the fuzzy line of cat ears and a tail that formed next to a black square Ladybug only assumed was a building.

As Chat Noir approached, Ladybug realized he’s holding a box. A wide cheshire grin adorned his face, the streaks of moonlight bouncing off his face handsomely. Chat Noir’s good-looking, she’ll give him that.

“Happy anniversary, my lady.”

“Cheesy as usual,” she answered, taking the box. It’s gorgeously decorated, silky ribbons and all. Ladybug traces the red color, wishing she could feel its softness as herself. Then she noticed, by the knot of the bow, laid a tag. Her eyes widened as soon as she recognized the brand.

“Chat, this is—”

“I’m actually a pretty spoiled kid from a pretty spoiled family so hush, okay? It’s your _birthday_ ; I can share some of my spoils, right?”

Ladybug laughed. “Sure, considering all of our war spoils disappear after I cleanse. Am I allowed to open it?”

“I don’t expect you to place a pretty box in your room as _decoration_.”

“Oh please, kitty! I’m so keeping this box; it’s absolutely beautiful.” Nevertheless, Ladybug lifted up the cap and tried stifling her gasp—to no avail. She had already expected something expensive, but she hadn’t expected this.

“I know we’re not dating!” Chat Noir said quickly and she raised an eyebrow. Ladybug hadn’t been thinking about that at all. “But I thought giving you a ring is kind of, y’know…” He lifted up his own hand, his black ring glinting, the paws glowing. “...Miraculous.”

She guffawed. “ _Miraculous?_ ” she repeated, watching as Chat’s grin grew. “That doesn’t even fit!” Chat Noir smiled, eager.

“I got earrings too. I’m wearing them right now”—Chat brushed his hair back to show them off— “It’s kind of like a remembrance that we’re always together, right? Having Miraculouses...being a team...we’ll always stay together right?”

She stared at him, stunned. Then, finally—“That’s cliche, even for you, kitty.”

“But you love it, don’t you?”

She leapt and hugged him—how could she not? Ladybug’s wrapped around Chat Noir’s neck snuggly and she declared, “Obviously!” The superhero pulled away, thinking. “Though I don’t think I can wear this to school. Don’t you think it gives away too much?”

“Is a cat and ladybug engraving really that much?”

Ladybug peeked at the inner band of the ring. She hadn’t even noticed. Then, she glanced at Chat Noir’s earrings again, looking at the parallel engravings he had on each ear. Ladybug wrinkled her nose. “Are those clip ons?”

“I don’t have my ears pierced!” her partner defended. “People will talk too much if I do.”

“So you’re rich _and_ famous?”

She didn’t expect him to turn away. “...Kind of…”

“Whoa, kitty,” teased Ladybug, a little shocked. “It’s been how many years and I _just_ learned that?”

“Hey! Like you’re the one to talk. Secret identities, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved away the conversation they had almost a million times in the course of their partnership together. “By the way, here’s my gift. Though it kind of pales in comparison to yours.”

“Impawssible,” Chat Noir replied seamlessly, not even putting emphasis on the pun, due to its overuse. Ladybug didn’t even roll her eyes. Marinette decided that it’s a sign of how long they’ve been working together, that she doesn’t even react to his little quirks that she had gotten used to.

When Chat opens the bag, he repeats with a delighted grin, “Impawsible, m’lady! Homemade sweets from the Ladybug? It beats any lousy ring any day! I might even take my lousy gift back.”

“No way!” Ladybug exclaimed. She held on to the ring. “I’m keeping this _forever_. You can have all the treats, but I’m keeping this.”

“Then it’s a compromise.” Chat Noir held a cupcake forward, leaning it towards her. “Cheers?”

“You’re an absolute dork,” she replied, but grabbed a cupcake nonetheless. Ladybug clinked it with his, giggling when the two different colors of frosting mixed together a little.

“To success!” she cheered, raising her cupcake.

“To no havoc wreaked in Paris!” Chat Noir followed.

“And to a _great_ four year anniversary of defeating an akuma for the first time!” Ladybug declared happily.

Chat Noir smiled at her, a wide grin gracing his face at first, before melting into a smaller, quiet one. Marinette was a little stunned by the out of character action from her partner, but returns a smile. They raise the sweets one more time before eating it, and Ladybug slips on the ring to her finger.

Marinette loved it, but rings weren’t her favorite. She didn’t know how Chat Noir did it, but fighting with metal around her finger seemed painful. Having the loop of her yo-yo was a different matter; it was softer than metal, though the magic in it must’ve made it stronger than any steel.

She decided a necklace will do. Marinette would loop a chain through the ring.

“Did you like it?”

Chat’s voice was soft, different from usual. Ladybug eyed him carefully. Her partner’s entire demeanor seemed a little off today. But she didn’t dwell on it; it was their special day, after all! Their real anniversary of meeting each other was over ten days ago, and having two such wonderful holidays—they were considered as such to Marinette—in such proximity must be what’s throwing Chat Noir off. It’s throwing her off, anyways. Marinette always loved being Ladybug, and celebrating it more and more each year with Chat Noir never failed to give her a rush.

“Of course! Tonight is absolutely the best, kitty. Even if it is a school night.”

“Class early in the morning?” She nodded furiously, irritated and Chat Noir chuckled. “I meant the gift, though.”

Ladybug smirked. “You don’t even need to question that.” She lifted up her hand, letting the lovely jewelry glint under the shine of the moon. “It’s perfect.”

She confirmed that there’s... _something_ about Chat Noir when he didn’t make a pun. He didn’t look unhappy or put down; in fact, Chat Noir looked extremely delighted. He smiled kindly at her, his green eyes beautifully lit in the night darkness. It’s different. The things he didn’t do that Marinette was just so _used_ to made her feel...She couldn’t place it. But it was kind of like déjà vu. Or it was just on the tip of her tongue...

 _Maybe it’s his identity,_ thought Marinette. After all, she knew having a Miraculous changed things more than just appearances. _Oh, that’s stupid, Marinette,_ she waved away, _Chat Noir seeming different because of his secret identity?_

“Well, your cupcakes were _paw_ sitively magnificent,” Chat Noir complimented with hint of flirtation that makes Marinette groan and think, _never mind that._

“I really do love this ring,” she told him again, admiring the look of it on her finger. Marinette already knew she might not every be able to wear it as much as she would like to. The same went for Chat Noir, she figured, as his was _clip on_ earrings. Those never held well.

_A pity, because it really is beautiful._

But a necklace would do just fine.

She never voiced that to Chat, however, for fear that he might watch out for a girl always wearing the engraved Ladybug and Chat Noir ring above her chest. Yet, the two superheroes will always be with her.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Marinette!”

She’s being jostled. Her eyes shoots open, the first thing she sees being Adrien Agreste’s beautiful—if painted with immense worry—face in front of her.

“ _Marinette!”_

“Adrien!” She gasps his name more than anything. There’s a sharp pain in her chest, as if she’s being suffocating. Marinette leans forward, inhaling and exhaling harshly, trying to get the air forming.

Where is she? She had been trying to go to the door… Looking around, Marinette realizes Adrien must’ve carried her to the chair that she had been aiming for before she fainted.

He’s by her side, crouching and looking up her with extremely concerned eyes.

“Are you—are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she answers weakly when Marinette is able to breathe properly. What was happening? First, she had two attacks in the span of a day, then she started to faint, not to mention there was that _dream..._ or was it a hallucination?

Marinette puts a hand to her forehead, trying to calm herself. The curse is getting worse, that’s for sure. She never understood it, only piecing clues together with what she knew. All her knowledge of this curse of hers are only assumptions at best.

“What are you doing here?” she asks Adrien when Marinette’s mind as finally cleared up, more or less, anyways. (She can almost hear Chat Noir’s chuckles in the distance. Marinette decides it’s just her, it’s just the curse.)

Marinette must still be hallucinating because when she glances at Adrien’s face—hidden behind the way he’s holding his head in his hands—a glimpse of Chat Noir’s glittering green eyes flash through her mind.

 _Chat,_ she thinks with a twist in her heart.

“Marinette, what happened back there?”

“I just felt dizzy.” Marinette attempts to stand up but her thighs feel like lead. She tries to cover it up by lifting up her feet—an effort harder than one would expect—and making some lame excuse about stretching that Adrien definitely doesn’t believe. The reassuring smile she gives only makes it worse. “I just need some rest. It’s been a long day.”

“I really think I should be taking you to a hospital.”

“Gosh, no, I hate hospitals.” Marinette regrets telling him anything. “It’s smelly and gross and expensive and strict and—”

“Helpful and healthy and affordable by me, so it’s not really a bad idea.”

“Adrien—please.”

He watches her with those eyes that say so much. Marinette can only hope she’s conveying the same level of emotion back. Finally, he lets out breath and gives a harsh but resigned “fine”. However, by the look on his face, Marinette knows that this conversation is long from over. She knows hould hate that, but even a little part of Marinette is screaming at her to tell Adrien everything.

Some silence. She’s starting to get used to the awkwardness that continues to happen between them. It’s so different from the awkwardness Marinette and Adrien had when they were younger. Though that was more of a awkwardness Marinette had _with_ Adrien, to be more accurate.

Adrien takes a seat on the black coffee table in front of her. He folds his hands together between the space of his legs.

Her eyes drifts to Adrien’s body, studying him. Three years had been good on him because Adrien is handsome as ever. He let his hair grow longer, just a bit, but enough to make Marinette want to turn back to a teenager and run her hands through it. His shoulders are broader, his style more high-end. Sophistication with a touch of casual is a good look on him, though Marinette remembers her younger self thinking that Adrien Agreste didn’t _ever_ look bad.

Marinette’s gaze falls to his arms. His sleeves are rolled up a bit, showing off his skin. And if she thought that was enough to make her heart pound, her eyes catch the silly bracelet on his wrist.

 _Her_ charm bracelet.

He never gave it back to her, even when she gave it to him all those years ago as a simple classmate who only had thoughts of being with a cute guy in class, before they were even really _good_ friends. He kept it all these years and from it’s worn use, Marinette can tell Adrien wears it often. He kept it all these years, even after Marinette left him.

“Adrien,” she croaks, guilt, now more than ever, swallows her up. Marinette keeps observing him, regarding his fingers, the constant up and down movement of his knees, his sleek leather shoes, his stylish messenger bag—

“What is that?” Marinette demands, jumping up from the chair and pointing to the bag. At the edge of the flap pinned two, almost matching circular shapes. Her fingers immediately dart to her neck at the sight, only for her to remember she had taken off the necklace with the beautiful ring that Marinette wore so faithfully in the past years. She had taken it off with a heart full of lead, and although she thought she still needed Chat, she couldn’t been _seen_ needing him in Paris.

Adrien follows her eyes and her finger. Realization washes over his face, with a subtle hint of a storm, but it’s mainly just calm waters.

He doesn’t look surprised that she pointed it out. He doesn’t look ready to explain _what_ it is or _why_ Adrien Agreste has the clip on earrings Chat Noir had pinned to his bag. He doesn’t look like he’s going to do _anything_ Marinette expects him to. The only thing he does do is let his eyes flick to her fingers—her bare fingers, with no ring adorned—then back up to her eyes.

She suddenly thinks about their conversations in the past couple of days. The eerie familiarity that she couldn’t place, betrayal in his eyes, Adrien’s claim of trusting her with his _life..._

“Marinette—”

“You know…” Marinette begins slowly, trying to get a read on Adrien. Her eyes dart to the green color of his irises, the size of his pupils, the lines that trace his face. His eyes close—an acceptance, but she continues anyways. “You know that I’m Ladybug, don’t you?”

“Was,” he corrects, letting a small, but sad, smile grace his face.

Part of her wants to yell at him for that. Part of her wants to cry. Part—a large piece—of her wants to just scream at anyone who didn’t believe her, and then some, to tell them that she didn’t _want_ to give up Ladybug, that she _misses_ it, and the only thing worse than being an ex-superhero is _still_ being that superhero, but being unable to do _anything!_

All that dries up in her throat when Adrien lifts his right hand, and a silver ring glints when it hits the light. Marinette has seen that ring only a million times; in its different form, obviously, but she doesn’t think she’ll miss it when she sees it.

If it weren't for the fact that she just had that startling memory of anniversary, Marinette would've been completely shell-shocked.

“Adrien?” She looks back at the pins—earrings he’s _transformed_ into pins—on his bag. Marinette’s eyes go back to his face. He’s smiling again; his smile is wrapped with melancholy in and out.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, and even though that single piece of reassurance hadn’t helped her in this whirlwind journey of agony, coming from him, it does. A blanket of pressure is lifted from her chest, and for the first time in years, Marinette finds it easier to breathe.

“Sure,” a voice snaps, “sure. ‘It’s okay.’ How classic.”

“Plagg!” Adrien reprimands. Marinette’s chest tightens all over again. His _kwami…_

Oh, she misses Tikki.

“Marinette, meet Plagg,” Adrien says amiably, eyeing the two carefully.

“Hello,” she mumbles, trying to bring her volume higher, but just so obviously incapable of doing so. She can’t even look at Plagg in the eye. She wants to hide. She wants to beg and ask the kwami for forgiveness—she wants to apologize for failing, for ruining her Miraculous, _losing Tikki._

“Whatever,” Plagg grumbles. He flies away, perched on her windowsill.

Adrien sighs. “I’m sorry about him.” He offers her a small “can you forgive me?” smile. He shouldn’t be doing that. That should be her. “But at least he’s sensitive enough to give us some privacy.”

It should feel weird, knowing Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir. Finding out each other’s identities had always been the biggest construction block in their relationship, her biggest fear when she was only a teenager. But now, after suffering all the she has been through, knowing Adrien is Chat Noir doesn’t seem weird. It doesn’t even seem foreign.

Maybe she knew all along. Maybe subconsciously, Marinette had seen Adrien and Chat as one entity.

 _That doesn’t make sense,_ Marinette tells herself. But it’s not like anything ever made sense. Not the workings behind this curse, not the workings behind her mind, not the workings behind fate that he is Chat Noir and she was Ladybug.

And things are making less sense, now that Adrien Agreste is back in her life.

Marinette gives one nod. They fall into that silence they keep falling into again. It’s not awkward, but it isn’t comfortable either.

She needs to say something. She should tell him—she _should,_ but Marinette knows she probably won’t.

“How’s…” Marinette begins instead. She swallows, and Marinette forces herself not to be overwhelmed with the grief, forces herself to ask the next words, to know. “How’s Paris?”

“Good.” He snorts. “More or less, obviously. I had a good lull of peace for about two years, before a new magical enemy spawned and decided to terrorize innocent civilians. Same drill. Take an affected person, infect them, and have them do the dirty work.” Adrien takes his arm away from the bench and leans forward, lacing his fingers together. “These bad guys are just...so _petty._ If they’re going to do harm, couldn’t they at least take the initiative to do it themselves?”

Marinette flashes back to the time Hawkmoth slapped his hands on her face, on her cheeks, on her _earrings._ He was so terrifying, his power intimidating her to no end. “Yeah,” she breathes, but her voice is lacking all agreement. “They should do it themselves.”

“Marinette?”

She looks up.

“You don’t actually have cancer.”

It’s more of a statement of fact than anything. Marinette, catching this, doesn’t even bother to deny it.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

They lap in that pregnant pause for a while, Adrien still hunched over, head bent down. Finally, he straightens.

“Marinette,” Adrien pleads, “can you tell me what’s wrong? I want to know.” He draws his eyes on her, staring seriously. “Please. I want to help.”

Marinette’s lip trembles. She hates this. She really does. Everything about this—there is literally no aspect to this curse she thinks is okay. From the attacks to the terrible side effects to needing to lie to her loved ones—she’s done. She’s completely done.

She peeks at Adrien again. His face is pleading, his eyes are pleading, his entire being is pleading. He’s begging for her to tell him. The look stabs her a million times again, and despite that it’s a small amount of misery to all that she had endured before, including the exponential agony she had experienced in the last couple days whilst in Paris, Adrien’s pain is plain torture.

She exhales, releasing more than just air.

“Okay.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Chat? Chat!”

Ladybug snapped her yo-yo compact shut, cursing. “Looks like he’s still out. _Ugh.”_ The akuma was on the run, and she needed to catch it, quickly.

But her partner was unconscious—knocked out with a wave of nausea that Epidemic had sent. Ladybug had to choose: her partner or the akuma?

She swore again. She shouldn’t be needing to decide like this! Ladybug _needed_ Chat Noir, but her responsibility as a superhero should be unwavering.

With a heart of lead, Ladybug abandoned her partner in the lone building, hurling her yo-yo towards a glass window and shattering it, leaping out.

 _Please be safe,_ she thought, as Ladybug swung across the skies.

 

 

 

 

“Halt!” Ladybug, superhero of Paris, roared. Distantly, Marinette thought angrily at herself, _Are you serious? Do you actually believe he’ll stop?_

Amazingly, the kid did. The infected child stops in his run and slowly, turned. Trying to hide the surprise from her face, Ladybug walked up to the kid. “Please. Don’t let him tell you what to do. You have your own mind for a reason.”

“No!” the akumatized victim said, obviously trying to fight his way through. He jerked away, even though Ladybug hadn’t even held him. “No, don’t tell me what to do! Don’t _lie._ That’s all you adults ever do— _lie!”_

 _Adult?_ Well, her 19th birthday _was_ in less than a couple weeks, so technically yeah...she’s been one for a while, but she was still a young adult.

Looking back at the akumatized child again, Ladybug realized with a jolt that he couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. And even that was a high estimate. _No wonder,_ Marinette thought, _he doesn’t have much real perception._ The kid must think everyone large and taller was an adult.

“What do you mean?” Ladybug tried, going for conversation. It was never good to talk to an akumatized person—too unpredictable. But Chat Noir still wasn’t here, and with that brief Hawkmoth physical appearance that startled both her and Chat, Ladybug didn’t want to risk anything. She needed to buy some time.

“You—and the others—” the boy started furiously, trying to get the words out. He made rapid hand motions, as if they helped him convey what he wanted to say. “Always telling me that I’ll be _fine,_ that I’ll be healthy again—but I _won’t!_ That’s what dad said—and he _lied._ He said I’ll go to the World Cup with him next year, that I can celebrate my first two-digit birthday in two and a half years, but then he—he goes and tells mom that he’s _lost hope,_ thought I didn’t hear, _thought I didn’t hear—_ well, _I HEARD!”_

A blast of purple and black exploded and it was only Ladybug’s enhanced reflexes that saved her from being exterminated. Everything that touched the dark, fume-like substance melted away, crumbling to the floor—if the streets were even still there. Craters inhabited the city and the small amounts of the strange substance from before crawled on the sides. The kid ran away, carried away by the swarm of floating flies and globs of blood. The sight almost made her sick.

“Wait!” Ladybug shouted, but Epidemic wouldn’t stop for a second time. She chased after him, the guilt and worry for her partner growing by the second.

 _Oh, Chat,_ she thought, _please hurry!_

 

 

 

 

Her transformation was going to run out.

That was only one of the many panic-filled thoughts running through Marinette’s head right now. She lobbed over another building with ease, fingertips brushing over the barest of cement covering the roof as Ladybug flips around. The track Epidemic left is easy to trace; all Marinette needed to do was follow the signs of death and destruction—not much different from any of the other akumatized victims, truth to be told. However, Epidemic was only a child and no matter how powerful people became after being infected (Marinette internally groaned when she heard Chat’s pun-filled laughter in her head) with an akuma, Epidemic was still too emotionally raged to have a full control over his set of assets.

So Marinette eyed the dark purple trail that was definitely formed by Epidemic. The streak was largely purple and black, like all magical vestiges that an akuma caused, but it also contained little maggots and worms, red-like substance that she can only assume was blood, and worse of all, limbs, flesh, bones of sorts that were no doubt parts of a—dead—human body.

 _True to his name,_ she thought, as Ladybug dove under a streetlamp and over another building. She was gaining on him; the wails of a child was almost audible to her ears. Epidemic had been going at top speed at first, throwing obstacles in her way, but now, his energy had to be draining.

“Got you!” she shouted and Marinette thought it was over. She would defeat Epidemic, grabbing his possessed item, crush it, cleanse the butterfly and proceed to cleanse the city…

But nothing was cleansed. Nothing was clean.

It was left all a mess.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Adrien shakes his head.

“No, no. That can’t be right.” He continues to shake, as if trying to refuse the facts Marinette had been living with for the past several years. “You _cleansed_ the akuma. It should be—cleansed.”

Marinette tips her head down, agreeing. “That’s what I thought too. I replayed the attack over and over again in my head, who knows how many times? I have a lot of theories but most plausible one is that when Hawkmoth transported here, even though he wasn’t _actually_ here...He was still able to transport some magic over. And cursed me.”

“Cursed you?” the boy repeats.

“It’s what I’ve been referring it as. It’s not like Hawkmoth stuck around to give it a name…” She laughs bitterly. “It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

“Please,” Adrien says, brushing his hand across her cheek. She instinctively leans into his warm touch. “Don’t joke about this.”

“I’m sorry,” she tells him.

He smiles a bit, eyes crinkling. “Can you continue?”

Marinette nods. Adrien took his hand away, and feeling a lack of warmth, her head instinctively falls on his shoulder. She release a breath, bracing herself. She has never told this story out loud; she underestimated the emotional turmoil doing so gave.

“Do you remember the akuma?”

Adrien ponders. He taps his cheek, trying to remember. Sighing, he admits, “No, not really. I could only remember that Hawkmoth appeared briefly, but Plagg later explained it was only an image

“A side effect of usual possession,” the said kwami pipes up from his spot by the window.

“Usual possession,” Marinette repeats. _If only._ “Plagg’s partially right. The image _was_ a projection—of sorts. Hawkmoth wasn’t actually there, but...he could touch.”

“Touch?” He’s bewildered. “He could _touch_ you?”

“Yes. It was a power granted by the akumatized child. He was distraught.”

“Like our usual customers?”

“Yeah...I mean, yeah, the akuma was normal, but…” She gestures to her body, lips curved into a sad smile. “This isn’t typical is it?”

“Marinette…” He reaches out for her, but she stops him with a hand before Adrien can do anything to distract her.

“The child was distraught. He was ill—if I remember correctly, he had leukemia. And when you were knocked out…” She looked away. Marinette had planned this. She had thought about what to say over a million times, maybe a _billion_ times, even when Marinette knew she couldn’t ever see Chat Noir again. Why couldn’t the words come out correctly? “When I was fighting Epidemic, I got hit by one of his blasts. It was _painful._ Usually we get hit or hurled twenty meters into the air, but this time, I felt like every muscle in my body was burning. Like my all my internal organs were bleeding, stabbed over a million time with small needles. And when I fell…”

Forcing herself to look at Adrien’s eyes, she kept going. “Before you got knocked out...You remember how he showed up for a split second. You remember how we were relieved that he didn’t do much but show up?” Adrien nods. “Well...he did. Later, when he came...he slapped me.”

At Adrien’s widened eyes and kindled fury starting in his eyes, she waves her hands, trying to fix what she said. “I mean, kind of? He just took his two hands, which were startling purple, I remember, and slammed them to my face. I’m guessing Hawkmoth was aiming for my earrings, because when I cleansed the akuma, it was weird. The butterfly was _sucked_ into me, rather than cleansed. It flew into my earrings. I thought it was strange, but I proceeded with the cure.

“The cure worked fine, so I had thought nothing about it. Maybe a new power? But when I got home, I realized I couldn’t change back.”

She hears Adrien suck in a breath.

“I know. Me too. I panicked. I mean, being Ladybug forever?” Marinette laughs. “It would be a disaster! I wouldn’t be able to go to school, go out of the house—who knows how many people would’ve found out about my secret?

“But I did revert back. Eventually. But it wasn’t normal.

“You know when you change back to yourself, a light surrounds you, and the transformation is released from your bottom up?” Adrien nods. “Well...this...wasn’t like that.

“I flashed first. _Flashed._ When I looked at my hands, it would flash back and forth from skin to suit, skin to suit. But it always stayed at suit.

“Then, the transformation started wearing itself out. It would change back to my regular shoes, but not my pants. It just stayed at shoes. I thought, ‘well at least Ladybug looks fashionable.’”

Adrien laughs. It’s short, painful, but in that moment, Marinette appreciates it with a surge of affection.

“A couple hours later, both of those things happened again, and again, and again. Each time, the intervals between them would be shorter, and near the end, I would be flashing and transformation back at the same time. It was _weird._ Scared me a lot too.

“Finally, the strange flashes stopped and I was fully Marinette. Kind of. Another thing I noticed is that my kwami never was released.

“Tikki is still here.” Marinette places a hand under her earlobe, showing it to Adrien. “It’s dark purple now; I’ve always guessed that it’s because of the akuma that got sucked in. My kwami never left my Miraculous, so I’m...kind of stuck. In between Marinette and Ladybug.”

“What?”

Plagg, who had the decency of privacy, spoke up again. Marinette had almost forgotten he was here; the kwami had floated around in her room, away from the isolated corner the two humans stayed. Marinette was too immersed in her story to really notice the small creature.

Maybe she had ignored him on purpose. She almost couldn't bear seeing another kwami after the incident, after all.

“Can I see?”

Mutely, Marinette nodded and brushed back her hair. She revealed her earrings to Plagg, showing the now dark purple tint to her Miraculous.

“Tikki,” Plagg whispered and Marinette shut her eyes, unable to feel the immense pain the thousands of years old kwami must've been enduring.

“She never left,” Marinette murmured. “But I miss her so much.”

“Me, too,” Plagg agreed. He rubbed her earrings one more time before floating back to the windowsill a couple meters away from them. He looked forlornly out the window and Marinette wondered what the kwami was thinking. His times with Tikki? Ladybugs and Chat Noirs from the past? Maybe...maybe he knew something about cure. But even the kwami from Italy didn't know, even if Marinette kept from explaining details of her situation. She cursed herself; she shouldn't be dwelling on _cures._ Marinette knew fully well the dangers of _that._

“Do you still have your powers?”

She turns back to Adrien, just a bit jolted from being taken out of her thoughts. Marinette shakes her head. “No. Well, kind of? I realized I’m a little stronger, despite being weakened. Y’know, the attacks. But even that started to wear out. To me, it was like a countdown to the end of my days. I used to be able to carry around all my luggage in one hand when I was going around Europe. Now?” Marinette flexes her fingers. She stares at them for a beat, mourning her lack of ability. Marinette curls them back in. “Sometimes I can still do things. Usually when I’m running on adrenaline. But now, normally...I’m impossibly weak.”

He moved so he's sitting in the couch next to her. It's a big couch, even for two people, but there's only centimeters of space between them. Before, Marinette would've jumped at the thought of touching Adrien or maybe even Chat, but now, she craves it.

Adrien brushes her hair. “You’re not weak, Marinette.”

“I used to beat you at every arm wrestling competition we had,” Marinette continues forlornly, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I bet now I won’t even be able to win a thumb wrestling match.”

Adrien laces her hand in his. “One, two, three, four…”

She starts to cry. “That’s not even the right hand, Adrien,” she mumbles through a tear-filled smile.

“I declare a thumb war…”

“...Five, six, seven, eight…”

“...You win.”

Marinette’s head falls onto his shoulder. She lets herself tuck it in the crook of his neck. She lets herself bask in his smell. She lets herself be completely enveloped by his presence, even though she knows she’ll regret it later. “You didn’t even finish the chant.”

Adrien’s forehead knocks with hers. “You win.”

Her eyes lock with Adrien’s emerald ones. Marinette’s always been able to understand Chat Noir, maybe even Adrien if she’s really being honest with herself. And right now, she can read almost every emotion lighting up in his eyes. Marinette breathes in sharply. “No, I’m not.”

At this distance, she can see the way Adrien’s eyes crinkle and fade, and he’s probably feeling the stinging in his eyes that Marinette has become so accustomed to in the past three years. The barest of tears secreting at the edges. “Marinette—”

“Don’t, Adrien. _Please_ don’t. I’m going to die, okay? I’m committed to it.”

Adrien wrings away from her. He leaps up from the bed, gaping at Marinette. “You’re _committed_ to it—?” He takes a heavy breath; even Marinette can feel the pain of it in her own lungs.

“I have been,” she confirms, resolutely. “I have been since the day Hawkmoth cursed me.”

“Curse _him,”_ Adrien bites, lashing out. “What was he even thinking, how does this help _him?_ ”

“Divide and conquer?” She shrugs. “Once Ladybug is out, taking Chat Noir out of the playing field wouldn’t be too hard. We were always better together. But you defeated him on your own, didn’t you?”

“Ha,” Adrien bitterly replies. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t he kill you? Immediate death. Why drag it on?”

“I don’t try and understand the ways of a psychopath’s mind workings, Adrien. I never understood.”

“Me neither.” Adrien settles himself back down on the bed next to her. “His tactics were always tried and used.”

“Until the curse. That was new.”

“It must’ve been the only time he used it…” he ponders thoughtfully, with a bare coat of distress. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Maybe it was tied to the akuma? I mean, the kid was _sick_.”

“I remember. His powers weren’t pleasant.” Adrien shudders and Marinette laughs, thinking about a memory.

“I know! My favorite part was actually when he sent a swarm of birds. He figured out your weakness quickly,” she teases.

“Don’t even joke about that!” Adrien responds, feigning hurt. “My allergies should be taken with utmost care.”

“I hope you took appropriate care and medication after you regained consciousness,” she continues, a small grin playing at her lips, “and getting pampered to a cat’s need—”

She stops—Adrien had froze. His face is drained of color. Adrien’s eyes—usually so startling green—are widened, fear taking over and obscuring any light that should've shined.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Marinette blurts before Adrien can say anything. Earlier, she had deliberately rambled on, hoping Adrien wouldn’t realize but that was incredibly foolish. Of course he would. _Of course he would._ This was Adrien Agreste—Chat Noir—after all. Her partner, who always put her over himself. “Please. It wasn’t your fault.”

“ _How the hell was it not my fault!”_ Adrien cries. “I was your partner—I was supposed to _protect you_ and then all I did was get myself knocked out…I can’t believe how I haven’t even noticed sooner...” Adrien starts to cry and Marinette pats his back, trying to soothe him.

“Please,” she says, and wonders how many “pleases” have been exchanged between them in the last 24 hours. “Don’t blame yourself. It was my fault for being careless. I’m supposed to be a hero—and I failed.”

“No,” Adrien moans, “no, _I_ failed you. How could I do this? How could I let this happen I was so _useless_ and now you’re—you’re—”

He cries again. Marinette weaves herself under him so she can hug him properly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“No,” he repeats, “no, no, _no._ No, you’re not. You’re getting worse. I can _feel_ it.”

Shocked, Marinette pulls away. “You can?”

“It’s...it’s hard to explain.” He points to his chest. “There’s this aching feeling here, and it’s more than just because of—of…”

“Shh,” she says, and out of impulse, knocks their forehead together. It’s a gesture that she’s only done several times in the past, in moments of complete vulnerability between them. Adrien closes his eyes, as if thinking the same thing, basking in the little comfort they can offer to each other. “It’ll be okay.”

Adrien’s eyes snap open. “It will? You—you—do you know a cure?”

Marinette’s eyes widen as well. Her heart drops. “Adrien, no—”

“You don’t,” he interrupts. His face falls. Adrien leans back, away from her. “You don’t.”

“Adrien.” He turns away, tears dripping down his face, sobs wracking his body. Marinette knows the feeling too well. “Adrien—”

“Marinette, why did you come back? You didn’t come back for us”—the words hit her like a boulder—“so what for? You had a lead, didn’t you? You must’ve. What was it?” He sounds desperate now. Adrien’s eyes are so _pleading_ , so much more than she has ever seen before.

She doesn’t want to tell him. If Marinette gives any clues to her lead, she knows Adrien would drive himself mad by looking for the solution. She knows he’ll throw everything away to help her.

This is why. This is why she didn’t want to come back to Paris. This is why she didn’t want to see Adrien again, see _any_ of her friends and family again. She knew they would throw away their lives in a heartbeat, to save her, even when she was the furthest away from saving.

“I...can’t tell you.”

“To hell with that!” Adrien outcries. “You can’t _tell_ me _this?_  Haven’t you told me practically everything? Why can’t you tell me _this?_ It can _help_ you, Marinette!”

“But it won’t help _you!”_ she snapped, crying herself as well. “It won’t help you! If you knew, you would work endlessly to find my cure, to do anything you can to save me, but in the end, all you’ll be doing is wasting your life on a girl who’s going to die!”

“Don’t tell me that, Marinette!” They’re both yelling at each other now. Sobbing, furious, faces red. Marinette can’t even tell her emotions apart. She feels happiness for Adrien’s thoughtfulness, anger for his persistence, and an overwhelming, immense heartache for everything that has gone wrong. “If you think I can just _sit around_ and watch you _die,_ then you’ve lost your mind!”

“I might as well have! I’ve spent _years_ trying to cure myself—looking for clues, leads, _anything!_ You don’t know how many times I’ve had my hopes up, then only to have them crushed with a dead end. I can’t do that to you. I can’t _let_ you do that.”

“Marinette, whether you tell me your lead or not, I _will_ search for the cure. I will allow myself to go mad looking for it, because I rather be insane then let my partner die with the knowledge that I could’ve helped her and didn’t!”

“Adrien,” her voice soft, drastically different from seconds ago, “you have already done enough.”

“Enough?” he echoes. “Enough! I haven’t done _a thing._ Marinette, I’ll say this again: you’re _dying._ And you’re not letting me do anything!”

“And you know why I won’t! I won’t let you, Adrien! I can’t let you waste your life like I did mine!”

“You didn’t _waste_ your life, Marinette—someone else did! Someone _literally_ wasted your life! With an akuma that _infect_ with sickness and _waste_! Your life is filled with that waste—the unwanted, dirty things that infect it! And I want to clean it, okay?” Adrien stills. His pants a little from his angry rant, but eventually slows. His eyes widen—Marinette knows that look. It’s hope.

 _False_ hope.

“Adrien, _no—”_

But Marinette couldn't do anything to stop him, because before she can blink, Adrien has whipped out his Miraculous and transformed. One flash, and Chat Noir was before her.

 _So fast,_ she thinks sadly. Another power improvement she never got to experience herself.

“ _Cleanse!”_

Nothing happened.

Shooting him a sad, but triumphant smile—ironic in all ways—Marinette asks, “Done yet?”

“Like _hell.”_ Adrien shouts something else—Marinette is unable to interpret it. Everything Chat Noir is doing gives her grief. Everything he is could’ve been hers. She could’ve been an amazing superduo with Chat. She could’ve done so much _more_ to protect the city she loves. Instead, she screwed up once, and now—here she was.

“Like I said,” she says, “it’s no use.”

Adrien pants. His overexerted himself, that much she can tell. Before, when they used their powers, time on their Miraculous ran out. But instead, Adrien looks so incredibly physically tired.

“Adrien…?”

“Some drains energy more.” A heavy breath. “Takes power from both Miraculous time and my strength.”

“Why—”

“A story…for another day…”

He hunches forward, catching himself by holding the table. Marinette rushes over, one hand at his chest and the other at his back, trying to steady him. Together, they make it back to the bed, and Adrien sits down. He releases his transformation, and even Plagg looks extremely exhausted, more so than Tikki ever had been when she ran out of time. Her heart cracks at the sight of Adrien and Plagg suffering because of her. “Please Adrien, don’t do anymore. You’re pushing yourself too much.”

“You’ll never be able to convince me to just let you die, Princess.”

The name shocks her. Her lip trembles and she’s about to cry again. There is so much nostalgia and pain and the desire of the life that she thought she would have—the life Marinette should’ve gotten. She slumps next to him. Adrien turns to the side to face her and she grabs his shirt. She sobs into his chest.

“I hate this,” Marinette cries. Adrien pulls her in closer, letting her streak his shirt with wet, gross tears and snot, but he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. “I hate this, _I hate this._ I hate this _so much,_ Adrien, and I just—I just want to be healthy again. I want laugh with you guys, hangout with you guys, live with you guys. I want to be able to go to _school,_ finish my education—and oh _god_ , I want to be a designer. There was so much I wanted to do, Adrien. And now—I’m _dying._ I’ll never get to eat papa’s cakes again, see Alya make it to international journalism.” She chuckles at her next thought. “I’ll never get to see you model at a fashion show. I’ll never get to see Alya have a family, maybe a child? _Oh—_ I’ll never be able to see _myself_ have a child or a family.”

“This isn’t fair,” Adrien says, crying with her. “This isn’t fair, you deserved so much, _so much_ more.”

“It wasn’t ever fair, Adrien.” She sniffles and looks at the boy—the boy who doesn’t deserve to suffer this pain with her, no matter how vicarious it is—in front of her. “Good luck, bad luck—that was never fair.”

“Marinette,” he chokes, and his arms tighten around her. She misses that. God, she misses _everything._

Her fingers smooth over the softness of Adrien’s wet, with her tears, shirt. She remembers that he’s the son of Gabriel Agreste, that he should have work today but instead came to see her. She remembers that Adrien usually wore Agreste line clothing in order to promote his father’s work. She remembers the smile he gave her when she won one of Gabriel Agreste’s competitions.

Everything about him screams with the loss of the life she could’ve had. Her heart couldn’t take it anymore.

The next words spill out of her mouth without any filter.

“I want to live, Adrien,” she whispers into his chest. Marinette wants to take them back because saying such things will only give Adrien false hope that he doesn’t need, _really_ doesn’t need...But she doesn’t want to lie to him any longer. At least, not in this moment. “I don’t want to die.”

But before she lets Adrien say anything in return, Marinette continues, “But it’s impossible. I’m going to die anyways. There isn’t anything that can help me, Adrien. You _know_ that.” Marinette shuts her eyes, almost regretting everything she just said. She braces herself for Adrien’s retorts.

“Then live.”

With a shock at the calm in the words, Marinette glances up to look at him. Adrien’s green eyes are burning with a determination—not a fury. There’s a passionate glint in his eyes. Taking the liberty of grabbing hold of her shoulders, Adrien shifts her to move her back so she straightens, in order to face him properly and declares, “You need to live, Marinette. You can’t just let him do this to you, let _anything_ deter you from doing what you _want_ in this life, can you? We may be super”—Marinette chokes a bit, tears falling when she hears the word _super;_ Adrien only clutches her tighter, jostling her until she focuses on him—“but we still only get one life. One _chance._ To do what we _want_ and not just let some butterfly obsessed man dictate us. Okay?”

“I’m still dying, Adrien.” It’s probably the hardest sentence she’s said in her life. Marinette brings her gaze to his, concession written in her face. She’s done. She’s ready to give up. Even after all Adrien has said, even after coming back to Paris and seeing those she’s left, even when she knows _herself_ that she should live, at least try to live the way Marinette wanted to, she’s still ready to leave. “I’m still _dying_ and I can’t just sit here, go back to my old room and talk to my parents and talk to Alya and talk to _you_ as if I’m here to _stay._ Let’s face it, Adrien. I’m going to be gone— _out of your lives—_ in a couple weeks, months.” Her voice drops to a whisper. She pauses, staring into the green color of Adrien’s irises. “Maybe even days.”

“And you’re okay with just walking out of Paris _right now_ and being done with it? You don’t have _any_ regrets?”

“ _Of course I’ll have regrets!”_ she shouts. Her throat becomes scratchy at the end and Marinette coughs, the pain of her yelling so harshly backfiring in her body.  “But I would rather keep you guys safe and away from me. I don’t want to hurt you guys.” Sobs shakes her, and Marinette breaks away from Adrien’s hold to curl into herself. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You leaving now is going to be no less painful than if you leave—later.”

“Just say it, Adrien. _Say it._ You already know it’s inevitable.”

“No. Not inevitable. Never. Don’t tell me what’s possible and what’s not, Marinette.” Adrien clutches to her wrists. “I’ll stop it.”

“You can’t,” she sobs, tired of this conversation. “You can’t end it. It’s endless. Just a nightmare...over and over…”

Her head throbs and before the next pang of sharp pain that Marinette knows is coming hits her, she thinks, _it’s getting worse._

Adrien catches her shoulders when she leans a little forward. “Marinette!”

“I’m fine,” she mutters, the anguish disappearing. “I’m fine.”

“Look at you!” he says. “Can’t you see what condition in you’re in? Why won’t you let me help you? I can _cure_ you Marinette and all this _agony_ will leave!”

“I can’t even begin to tell you what I’ve done for a cure, Adrien,” Marinette tells him, glaring. “And I don’t think I want to.”

“I don’t care. I’ll do the same and more. I’m _Chat Noir,_ Marinette. I’ve been in plenty of dangerous situations already. And what’s worse? I’m a _superhero_ who can’t save you! How can I let myself do that? To my partner? I would’ve done anything to protect you, _do_ anything for you—I would give up my life—”

“See?” Marinette shoots back with a wrenching cry. “ _See?_ You would _give up your life for me_ —how can I let anything like that happen? How can I let anything happen to you? How can I _do_ this to you?”

“You’re not doing anything, Marinette!” he hollers back. “That’s the _point._ You’re being cursed by a _butterfly_ and you won’t even fight yourself?”

“I _already_ fought!” she screamed. “I spent the last three years fighting, looking for a cure! Adrien, I don’t know if I _can_ fight anymore.” Marinette shifts away from him, even now not wanting him to see her break down. “It hurts…it _hurts_ so much, Adrien. I don’t want to do this anymore…”

She keeps her head down, not wanting to look at him. Not wanting to see what expression he wears. Would it be disappointment for being burnt out? She was always a short match…

Marinette feels the bodily shift from Adrien, sees the movement of the clothes he’s wearing, trying to move away from wanting to go back into the warmth around him. A calloused—yet still soft from emotion—hand tips her chin up and Marinette braces herself for the disappointment she knew part of her had always expected.

However, her expectations are failed when she doesn’t see the disappointment. Adrien’s eyes are burning like before, but it’s different.

They burn with a fury this time. He looks at her with that incinerating gaze and there’s a small slice of her that wants to turn away, to admit her wrong. Rather, Marinette stares back at him, hard, unmoving, almost pathetically as she tries to stay strong with tears coating her face and her neck and her hands, snot dripping, eyes burning with pain, probably bloodshot.

Adrien moves forward, and although she is unflinching physically, Marinette takes a step back mentally. All her walls are about to crumble in a second; her defenses will come down with just one word. She’s just _so_ tired.

He can yell at her. He can bring her back to Alya and her parents, the former of which who would probably do much worse. They can scold her and lecture her about the rights and wrongs and how she made and will make the worst mistake of her life.

But when Adrien is less than a centimeter away from her, he doesn’t do any of that.

Instead, he kisses her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I have a [tumblr](http://www.dannphantom.tumblr.com) too! I was wondering, would anybody in interested in me posting ficlets/previews there?

**Author's Note:**

> I think I found all the spaces after/before italicized words (copying and pasting the document on AO3 caused them, I think) in the document, but if you happen to find any, drop a message? I'd be glad to remove them all.


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